


Exploring Westernesse

by silmarilz1701



Series: The Fëanoriel Chronicles [4]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alqualondë, Blessed Realm, Everyone Who's Ever Died, F/M, Fourth Age, Halls of Mandos, Mandos is always busy on Tuesdays, Taniquetil, Tirion, Tol Eressëa, Undying Lands, Uttermost West, Visiting hours aren't a thing unless you make them a thing, What if Sauron had a sister, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2018-08-31 14:58:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 41,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8582812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silmarilz1701/pseuds/silmarilz1701
Summary: Third Installment of The Fëanoriel Chronicles. Will deal with the fallout of the second installment in great detail. Read this one without the other at your own risk.Míril (OC), Elrohir, and Elladan finally reach Valinor and come across heroes of old. A look at the elves/maiar/valar of the Silmarillion from Third Age heroes. See character list for an idea of who will be seen here.





	1. Reunited

 

" _Welcome home, Míril Fëanoriel."_

At the sound of Lord Ulmo's voice, Míril felt her heart skip a beat. She looked out from the small boat that bore her, Elrohir, Elladan, and Glorfindel across the Sea to the Uttermost West. There was an island before them and a great white tower rose from its midst. The night sky was speckled with an innumerable amount of stars, all bright and clear in the heavens.

Slowly the boat drew near to the island. Lamps of gold and silver and blue hung along its edges, lining the white marble docks. Míril watched in awe as Glorfindel guided the boat to the closest pier. She was completely dumbstruck at the beauty around her and she had yet to set foot in the Blessed Realm.

"Welcome to the havens of Avallónë," Glorfindel smiled softly, as if recalling earlier years with fondness. "We will stop here, for here is likely where you will live."

They came close to the pier and a youthful elf on the dock smiled, bowing to them. He took hold of a rope and brought the boat in close, clasping it with the rope to hold it steady.

Glorfindel stepped out and put a board down for the other three. Míril was so busy taking in the beautiful lamps and stone surroundings, she missed the people waiting for them.

"Mother!" cried Elrohir, sounding more like a lost child than Míril could ever remember.

He and his brother ran forward and grabbed their mother in a hug. Míril smiled sadly, remembering her father at that moment. She wondered where he was. Clinging to Maglor's harp bag, she watched the scene before her.

Celebrían was weeping in happiness as she kissed her boys. Her silver-golden hair fell about her shoulders as she wept. Elrond, standing beside her, smiled. He looked happier than he had since Míril had known him. Galadriel and Celeborn were there also. Míril felt somewhat saddened, and Galadriel seemed to notice.

"Welcome to Tol Eressëa, Míril Fëanoriel," she smiled, walking forward and taking the woman's hand in hers to guide her to the group. "There are many that wish to meet you."

Míril looked confused. "Who, my lady?"

She chuckled. "Your deeds have not gone unnoticed, not since the Silmaril was returned."

Elrohir, turning towards Míril with tears in his eyes, took her hand and guided her towards Celebrían.

"Mother, this is Míril, my wife." He smiled widely.

Míril bowed deeply to the elf maid. "Lady Celebrían."

The woman laughed and pulled Míril into a hug. "Nonsense. I am your mother, too, now."

As Míril pulled away, she caught sight of someone else, lurking in the shadows of the pier. She opened her mouth in surprise and then smiled.

"Maglor!"

She ran forward as Galadriel chuckled at her reaction. Míril embraced her distant uncle and he stiffened but eventually let a small smile form on his face.

"I kept your lyre safe," she smiled, pulling back from him. "I brought it for you."

Maglor smiled down at her. "Keep it."

She teared up but nodded happily. By now the others had joined them, and together they stood side by side on the docks. Other elves, mostly silver haired, wandered around, speaking to one another. They took little notice of the newcomers or their reunion. Elrohir took Miril's hand in his. They listened to Galadriel and Celeborn. Míril suddenly realized that both wore crowns of silver. She supposed they were royalty, even more so here than to the Silvan elves of Middle Earth.

"Come, we have a house set up for each of you, next to one another," Celeborn told them as he led the way into the city. "You shall live in the upper circle alongside the rest of us."

They wandered together up the beautiful city streets. The lamplight and starlight created dancing shadows along the way, casting darkness on the white marble beneath their feet. Míril heard the tinkling of fountains and the harping that sounded like falling water and silver moonlight wrapped together. Little bells tinkled joyfully as the slight breeze blew about the city. Míril was enamored of the entire experience.

They passed four gates, each of silver and white. Ever closer came the great Tower of Tol Eressëa, standing like a pillar of safety far above them.

"I wish Aragorn could see this," she said with a twinge of sadness.

Galadriel smiled. "Perhaps there are even greater things for men when they die. Not even the Valar know this."

She took comfort in that fact. Aragorn might never see the Blessed Realm, but perhaps he would get something better. Perhaps her father and brother were experiencing that joy right now!

"There is one last surprise for you," Galadriel said as they stopped in front of a white stone building that was to be her and Elrohir's house. "One that surpasses all others, I would guess."

Míril was confused, as were the twins. But the daughter of Finarfin merely smiled and gestured for everyone to go inside the house. They did so, Glorfindel, Celebrían, and Elrond leading the way. Míril heard voices inside. She stopped dead in her tracks, all color drained from her face as she saw the two figures.

"Míril…?"

She felt tears forming in her eyes as the man spoke her name in a voice holding the same emotion she now was experiencing. She felt her heart tremble and her breath shake as she took a tiny step forward.

Her voice cracked as she responded to the tall, dark haired man. "Eldir?"

The man smiled and nodded, tears in his own eyes as well. Míril ran forward at the nod of his head and jumped into his arms, grabbing her older brother in a hug full of pent up emotion.

Míril was sobbing now, unable to control herself. She fell to her knees and placed her face in her hands. Eldir chuckled slightly and knelt down beside his little sister. He grabbed her and held her close, running his fingers through her hair to comfort her.

"How?" was all she could choke out between heaving sobs.

Eldir smiled. "I chose the life of the Eldar before I perished."

Eventually she laughed and cried at the same time, taking her husband's hand to stand up. Eldir looked Elrohir up and down and nodded his approval.

Elladan grabbed him in a quick hug, glad to see the man again so many years later after his death. Elrohir did the same after comforting his wife. Then they turned to the second newcomer.

"Mithrandir," smiled Míril, exhausted emotionally already.

Stepping forward she embraced the Maia. He looked younger, more powerful than he had in Middle Earth when she had known him. But his eyes were the same. His eyes and his smile.

"It is good we are together again," Míril laughed and cried at the same time. "Life is good."


	2. Tirion Upon Tuna

"Come, you must be hungry," smiled Celebrían, taking Míril's hand in hers like a proper mother. "All of you!"

Elladan snorted and nodded. "Quite."

"We know where to take them," Galadriel smiled at her daughter. "My kin."

"Or we could take them to see _my_ kin," Celeborn added. "Alqualondë would be truly magnificent as a first meal."

"I fear I am not welcome there," Maglor sighed. "Yet do not let this stop you."

Galadriel sighed. "Have you not been back since…"

"Nay, not even since my reembodiement." Maglor frowned. "I do not think Lord Olwë would welcome a son of Fëanor."

Míril frowned and looked long at Maglor before sighing. "I will go only where my kindred is welcome. If Lord Olwë wishes no child of Fëanor to set foot in Alqualondë, I will respect that. For I also am a child of that bloodline."

"Let us start with my father," Galadriel smiled softly. "Then perhaps Lord Olwë will be more forgiving."

Celeborn agreed and together, he and Galadriel led the party, Mithrandir included, back down the streets of Tol Eressëa. With Eldir's hand in one, and Elrohir's hand in the other, Míril walked confidently. Yet still her mind was entranced by the music and beauty of the city of the elves. She saw no harpists, no flutists, no musicians of any kind, yet still there was certainly a clear music in the air. It was like falling droplets of water and silver mixed as one.

She began to think of how her children would've enjoyed being here. She wished that Aderthon, Círeth, and Fëalas, even Tinneth, she wished they could see and experience the beauty of the Blessed Realm with her. But alas, it was their fate to remain in Middle Earth awhile longer and delay their choice.

She missed them dearly. With each glance at the stars far above them, she wondered what they were doing, what they were looking at right then. Were they enjoying one another's company? Were they alright?

"Peace, _melda_ ," whispered Elrohir into her ear. "I miss them as well, but they will be fine."

She sadly smiled and nodded. They would be. Aragorn promised to look after them, after all. He wouldn't let her down.

They reached a dock on the other side of the island. Similar in shape and decor to the dock where they arrived, Míril was led onto a swan ship. Galadriel instructed an elf to take them across the water.

Míril watched as the boat approached a wall of mountains. To her right was one so tall, the top was hidden from her. _Taniquetil,_ she realized in awe. That was where Manwë and Varda resided, the high king and queen of the Valar!

The boat veered left around a jutting rock and then she saw it. Valinor. The fullness of the Blessed Realm. Beside her, Elrohir and Elladan were equally as awestruck. This was the land of their dreams, the land of their prayers and hymns. A land oft sung of but never seen by the living unless they sailed West.

As the boat drew alongside a small dock, the newcomers to the Undying Lands and to Valinor remained speechless at the great white city, Tirion upon Túna. The great steps leading into the city were long and steep, yet it posed no hindrance to the company. Galadriel and Celeborn led the way, followed by Elrond and Celebrían, Glorfindel, Gandalf and Eldir, Elladan and Elrohir, and Míril, and at last Maglor. He trailed behind. As of yet, Maglor had not set foot again in his ancient home, Tirion. Finarfin had invited him in his mercy, but Maglor had felt it wrong. Yet here he was, climbing the ancient steps of Tirion upon Túna in the starlight. He was _home._

Several elves of dark hair were out and about in the city. They whispered in amazement and wonder as Galadriel passed, and some of the older ones looked curiously upon Maglor, as if wondering his identity. The three companions new to Valinor were paid little attention to; they were merely extras, the others were great Lords and ladies.

Reaching the center of the city, Galadriel led them to the foot of a great marble-white tower. At her approach, the doors were heaved open and trumpets blared. She smiled and nodded to the door wardens in thanks. Up they climbed, up the stairs of the great Tower to the throne room. When they got there, Míril could barely stand for the awe inspired fear she felt. For before her stood elven men and women of legend, elves she'd always dreamed of meeting.

"Father," bowed Galadriel. "I bring to you my grandsons, Elladan and Elrohir, and Elrohir's wife, Míril Fëanoriel."

A hush went over the room at that name, and at the notice of Maglor as he stepped out from behind Glorfindel. Lord Finarfin, High King of the Noldor in Valinor, stood. His beautiful golden hair fell to his chest as he bowed to them like was customary for elves. When his head was raised again, he smiled.

"I welcome you, all of you. I am Finarfin, King of the Noldor. You are all of my house now, descended through my daughter." He walked forward, blue robes falling comfortably around him. He made no sound or footfall.

"My lord," said Elladan and Elrohir, bowing deeply.

Míril stood there awestruck. But eventually she bowed low, still saying nothing. She only lifted her head upon hearing someone address her.

"Míril Fëanoriel," someone said to her right. "Your deeds are known to us! Yours and Elladan's and Elrohir's!"

She looked at the elf who spoke. So like to Finarfin was he that she figured he must be related to him in some manner. But never was she expecting his true identity. For when she didn't respond, staring dumbly at him, he continued.

"My sister, Galadriel as you know her, related to us the tale of the War of the Ring, and other tales we heard from Ossë, of your work in the South."

"Sister?" squeaked Míril in amazement.

Everyone laughed but he merely smiled. "Indeed. I am Finrod, son of Finarfin."

Míril simply couldn't speak. Her amazement was so great that she opened and closed her mouth mutely.

"We thank you for your praise, Lord Finrod," Elrohir bowed his head. "Obviously your exploits in Middle Earth are known to us, and held in high regard."

"Come," Finarfin laughed. "We must feast tonight!"

No one argued. Celebrían split from her husband and ran over to a maiden who stood beside Finrod. His wife, perhaps? Elrond and Celeborn began conversing with a few other elven men while Galadriel and Glorfindel went with Finarfin to help oversee preparations for the feast. Elladan and Elrohir were speaking together closely, wandering away to where their mother stood talking to the elf maiden. Eldir had split, obviously familiar with some of the elves of the company and intent on conversing with them. Suddenly Míril felt very alone.

"Quite a crowd, no?" Maglor said to her, voice low and harsh as he whispered.

"Indeed." She nodded.

Suddenly they were interrupted. An elf with dark hair and shining grey eyes had come over with Finrod. He looked Míril over curiously before nodding to Maglor in greeting.

"It is about time you visited us, cousin," Finrod smiled. "How many times has my father invited you? A dozen?"

Maglor shrugged and shuffled his feet. "Didn't ever feel like a good time."

The dark haired elf smirked. "Truly, Maglor, you are more stubborn than ever after reembodiement."

Míril began to wander away as the three began to speak. She looked at the grand architecture and sighed. It was beautiful.

"Míril," Maglor chuckled. "You may remain with us if you wish, since your beloved seems to have abandoned you."

She made a face and took the few steps back to their group. Indeed, Elrohir had gone with his brother.

 _Old habits die hard_ , she supposed. _Oh well. Let him have his fun._

"Míril," tried the dark haired elf. "A nice name. I am Fingon, son of Fingolfin."

Míril's mouth dropped. Had she been holding anything, that would have dropped too. Fingon.

"You mean _the_ Fingon?" She squeaked again as her face went pale.

The three cousins grinned at her reaction and laughed merrily. Maglor patted her on the back.

"Indeed. The one and only." Maglor smirked. "He's a pain, you'll see. Always has to be so very _valiant._ "

Fingon rolled his eyes. "I seem to recall _you_ being quite valiant in your final act, Maglor."

"Not nearly as valiant as this lady here," Maglor shook his head. "You know of the deeds she did, especially as of late! Defending the descendents of Luthien, the daughter of Lord Elrond and her husband, King Elessar!"

They looked in concern as suddenly Míril keeled over, a pain in her side sharply tearing through her. She gasped and nearly fell to her knees as memories filled her mind, memories of dark days filled with fear and anger and bewilderment. They flashed before her eyes and she felt weak. Flashes of Tinneth's face through the years flew before her eyes and she felt ashamed and weary.

The pain in her side increased as these images pulsed through her mind. The spot where Tinneth had driven her sword deep inside, nearly killing her. If not for the healing arts of Estelwen, Aragorn, and Glorfindel, she surely would've died like Tinneth had wanted.

"Woah there," Maglor grabbed her and steadied her. "What ails you?"

Fingon and Finrod knew not what to do. No one else seemed to notice the woman's distress. As such, Finrod hurried over to his wife and retrieved Elrohir. He came immediately and eased her to the ground, kneeling beside her. By now, others were taking notice.

"Follow me," Finrod told them. "If she can walk?"

Míril nodded, biting her tongue. But as she went to walk, standing up, her side pulsed again and she nearly fell. Elrohir picked her up and together the small group of Maglor, Finrod, Fingon, and the couple moved out of sight through a small side door in the back. Here they found a room containing a circular table and many chairs. A conference room.

Elrohir set Míril down on the table, letting her legs dangle down. She gripped his arm tightly. They both knew what was happening. They were familiar with it. The pain of her memories from fighting her daughter still haunted her, as did the sword wound she'd incurred.

Soon, Finarfin and Galadriel burst into the room, followed by Elrond and Eldir. Míril was beginning to recover but it was still painful.

"I'm sorry," she huffed as she tried to catch her breath. "I fear I've ruined the feast."

"Nonsense," Finarfin shook his head. "My people are setting it up as we speak. But your health is of utmost importance, for you are family."

Míril smiled a tiny bit through the pain. _Family._ Yes she supposed they _were_ family. As such, she did not protest when Finarfin asked to feel the wound.

His face grimaced as he felt her side. He could tell it had healed fine, but something was not right.

"I fear the only cure for you may be rest. I suggest you visit the Gardens of Lorien sometime. They might refresh you. Estë and Lorien shall surely grant you rest." Finarfin helped her stand when the pain has passed. "But for now, let us eat and drink and be merry!"


	3. Scarlet Hair

The throne room had been transformed into a great feasting hall. Great tables were set with cloths and place settings. Most of the regular Noldor had left the room, leaving maybe thirty or forty noblemen. Finrod went to join his wife. Fingon, with no maiden bound to his heart, merely waltzed with Maglor to a seat at the table. He had ever been a friend of the Fëanorians. Míril sat between Eldir and Elrohir near the head of the table. Across from them were Fingon and Maglor, and Elrond and Celebrían. Elladan sat beside Elrohir. At the head of the table were two place settings. Finarfin stepped up to one, and then a woman who Míril had not yet seen wandered to the other.

She was more beautiful than most she had ever seen. The woman's hair gleamed of star-like silver, glimmering in the lamps in the hall. She stepped lightly, making no noise. Her garments, white like snow. Her eyes were full of kindness and gentleness, hardening only a little when her gaze fell upon Maglor. The elf in question lowered his eyes in shame at her glance.

"Greetings," she said at last as she took her husband's hand in hers. "I apologize for not being here earlier. I was visiting my father in Alqualondë."

Together they sat, signaling it time for the others to follow suit. Immediately Míril knew who this mysterious woman was. She was the Lady Eärwen, princess of the Teleri and Swan Maiden of Alqualondë. She was the mother of Galadriel and daughter of Lord Olwë, High King of the Teleri.

Her husband Finarfin made introductions as the food came. Eärwen smiled warmly at each of them, until she came to Maglor. Yet even then, her gaze was not malicious. It was merely full of sorrow.

"Welcome home, Maglor," she said cooly. "Long has it been since a Fëanorian set foot in Tirion."

"I am very grateful to be allowed back, my lady," he nodded softly. "And grateful that you allow my kin, Míril, here as well."

"Her deeds are known to us," Eärwen agreed as she took a bite of pheasant. "As are yours."

Míril was stunned silent, and so were her two companions. At last she spoke up.

"My lady, how do you know of my deeds? Why should any in Valinor care?" Míril looked in confusion upon Lady Eärwen.

The woman smiled. "Dear child, any news of Middle Earth is welcome here, mostly among the Noldor, both the Exiles and the Loyal. Especially news involving the Silmarils."

Míril nodded. "What was done with the Silmaril when it was returned?"

Finarfin answered her. "It has been displayed where the Two Trees once stood, on Ezellohar. There it shines ever, bringing some small joy back into that place."

"I should like to explore Valinor," Míril smiled, speaking now to her husband.

Elrohir nodded immediately. "I should love that!"

Fingon overheard them and added his opinion. "Valinor is wondrous place. Truly you should explore it!"

"The Valar should like to meet you, I think," Finarfin smiled. "All three of you. The bearers of the Silmaril."

"Could we?" Elladan asked in surprise. "Is that done?"

"Indeed!" Finrod laughed. "They are curious about you."

"Is…" Míril paused. "Is there a way to meet Lord Ulmo?"

Eärwen paused before she nodded. "He sometimes comes ashore north of Alqualondë along the beach. But rarely."

"I should like to meet him," Míril decided aloud.

Eärwen smiled. "I will see what I can do. My father might take some convincing to allow you to come to Alqualondë, but I am sure I can convince him."

Maglor looked at his food and suddenly lost his appetite. He picked at his food self-consciously as he felt Eärwen's gaze flitter over him.

"I gave her my blessing, Mother," Galadriel said. "And she is of our kindred now. Surely she is allowed in Alqualondë."

Celeborn agreed. "Lord Olwë may be your father, but he is also my uncle. Surely between the three of us there will be no issue."

Lady Eärwen shrugged. "We can hope."

The feast continued for many hours. When the sun was just beginning to rise, they had finally finished. Finarfin and Eärwen, Galadriel and Celeborn, Fingon and Glorfindel, Finrod and Amarië of the Vanyar, all remained behind in Tirion. But Elrond and Celebrían led the way home for the others. Míril walked again between her brother and husband. Behind went Maglor, ever at the rear. He was sad to bid farewell to Tirion, to his ancient home, but he knew he could not live there again, at least not yet. He felt _wrong._ But then he paused.

"Elrond," Maglor said suddenly. "May I have a word?"

Elrond turned and walked back to him. They spoke in whispers before finally both nodded. They had a plan.

"Come, my sons," Elrond told the twins. "Maglor must take Eldir and Míril somewhere."

The twins looked confused but did not argue. Míril was unsure of what was happening but didn't protest, instead turning around to see where Maglor would take her and her brother.

"Where are we going?" asked Míril.

Maglor smiled sadly. "To see family."

Now Míril was very confused. She glanced at Eldir and noticed he was not surprised at all. Instead he was smiling.

 _Very well,_ she supposed. _To see family then._

Maglor and Eldir led her down a set of steps and into a side street of Tirion. They came across several small houses, all beautifully crafted and designed. Some were white, others red or grey. Eventually they reached a little white house and they stopped in front of it.

Eldir and Maglor walked up to the front door. Knocking, they stood back, Míril hidden behind them. A few moments passed before the door slowly opened and a woman with beautiful rich red hair appeared.

Upon seeing Maglor and Eldir she smiled lovingly. "Good to see you both!"

"Mother," Maglor smiled, accepting her hug. "We have someone here to meet you."

Míril, awestruck by her beauty as with most elves she'd come across so far, peeked out at her. Eldir stepped aside and took her hand.

"Nerdanel, this is my sister Míril," Eldir said happily. "She has come to the Undying Lands at long last."

"Míril! The woman responsible for bringing _some_ honor to our family, and for redeeming my son!" Nerdanel smiled widely and took her hands. "Welcome to our home."

"Lady Nerdanel," breathed Míril. "What an honor!"

Nerdanel laughed merrily. "Really? I am glad to hear it. Come inside, all of you! And truly I insist you drop the title."

Míril followed Eldir and was followed by Maglor. The home was more spacious than she'd expected. It had comfy looking furniture in hues of reds and oranges and a soft grey rug on the tile floors. A staircase ran up to the right of the door. But to the left was a living room. Here was where Nerdanel instructed them to sit.

"So, Míril," she began with a smile, "tell me about yourself."

She was caught off guard by the question. "What do you mean?"

"What do you like to do, what are you skilled at?" Nerdanel explained this to her patiently.

Míril shrugged. "I am good at swordplay. And music, I suppose. I really enjoy music."

"A girl after your own heart, Maglor," Nerdanel chuckled.

"She has my lyre, after all," Maglor told his mother. "I'd hope she likes music."

"What did you do in Middle Earth?" Nerdanel continued, rolling her eyes at her son.

"I fought for my foster uncle, Lord Aragorn, and defended the free peoples," she replied. "I was a counselor for the Reunited Kingdom and an ambassador to Harad, a southern mannish kingdom."

Nerdanel smiled. "Wonderful, though you will not need the sword here."

Míril nodded. "I am glad of this. I have had my fill of fighting."

Once more, images of her daughter's betrayal flashed through her mind. Images of death and pain and blood.

Maglor could instantly tell something was wrong. He recognized the look she had. It was a look he was all too familiar with himself.

"Do not dwell on the memories, Míril," he said softly. "That will only make it worse."

Míril nodded and bit her lip. A small pain in her side was beginning, but she managed to guide her focus away from the ordeal. Eldir and Nerdanel, both concerned, watched her countenance return to normal.

"You need rest, my child," Nerdanel decided immediately. "Eldir, take your sister to the bedroom in the back and have her lie down. Stay with her."

Eldir nodded and took hold of his sister, guiding her back into a small, dark bedroom. When they were gone, Nerdanel turned to her son.

"I have not kept up with the recent goings-on in Middle Earth for the past few years. It only depressed me. What ails her?" Nerdanel inquired this of Maglor.

"Míril has four children with Elrohir, son of Elrond, as you know," Maglor began. "The youngest, Tinneth, was too filled with a fire like Father. She turned traitor and almost killed Míril. Aderthon, Tinneth's brother, was forced to kill her."

"Oh my lord," sighed Nerdanel. "How awful."

"Truly," Maglor agreed. "It has wounded her emotionally and physically. She needs rest in the Gardens of Lorien."


	4. Power in the Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Finally an update. Sorry for the very long delay, I had major health issues crop up a couple months ago until recently. Finally managed to type up a chapter of this. Also! I've started a companion fic to the Fëanoriel Chronicles about Mirkwood during the War of the Ring entitled "Battle Under Trees." Check it out. It's more humor than anything else. So without further ado, Exploring Westernesse continues!

"We should be getting back to Tol Eressëa," Maglor told his mother. "Elrohir will be concerned for Míril."

Nerdanel stood and nodded, a sad look on her face. "You must visit more often, my son."

Maglor sighed. "I know."

Eldir came into the room with Míril. She looked tired, weary. Maglor bowed to his mother and turned to the other two.

"We must be getting back," he told them. "But we will visit again."

"Good." Míril smiled softly. "I fear I did not have a long enough chat with your mother."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Nerdanel chuckled. "You will be back, Míril Fëanoriel. Do not fret."

With bows to one another, the three companions left the house of Nerdanel and traveled through the beautiful city of Tirion. Míril was still awestruck by the fantastic architecture, the nearly endless beauty that was in this place.

As they walked through Tirion, Míril wondered how her children were doing. Aderthon was surely taking care of his sisters, as he always did. She knew it was selfish, but she hoped someday her children would choose the path she and their father chose: immortality. She wanted desperately to see them again sometime prior to the end of the world.

"Aderthon would've loved it here." Míril smiled with deep melancholy as she looked around. "Though I think Fëalas and Círeth would've preferred somewhere with more trees."

Maglor smiled ever so slightly. "I hope someday to meet your children. Since I was re-embodied about ten years ago, I have kept tabs on them."

"How?" Míril looked up at him in surprise.

"The same way I kept up with you're goings on all these years," Eldir smiled. "News from the Eagles, or a visit to see Lady Vairë's tapestries, and occasionally even a glimpse from the Eye of Ilmarin itself!"

"I am glad to hear of these things," Míril eagerly nodded. "It gladdens my heart to know _someone_ was watching over us."

Maglor smirked and shook his head. As they neared the beach and traveled down the hundred ivory steps, he turned to her to speak.

"Those of us who have cared to keep up with happenings in Middle Earth were always watching, and so were the Valar." He gestured for her to board the boat that would bear them to Tol Eressëa. "Middle Earth is not alone, though we exist on different sides of existence, different times."

Eldir nodded, his brown hair bouncing about his eyes. He took his sister's hand and together, followed by Maglor, they went forward. Maglor spoke to the boatman while the siblings looked upon the starlit beach they were leaving.

"If this beach at Tirion is so beautiful, I cannot fathom the beauty that must be Alqualondë's jeweled sands." Míril turned from the shore and towards the ever-nearing island.

Eldir nodded and smiled, but Maglor's face grew stiff as old memories that never left him returned. He may have been pardoned by the Valar, and by… _Him_ … but Maglor had not forgiven himself for that first kinslayer, nor any after. His mind was ever clouded by guilt.

As the boat moved through the water, Míril looked down into the deeps. It was like a mirror, reflecting the sky above. She reached down and touched it with her finger. A tingling sensation ripped through her.

"What?" Eldir asked at her strange a startled expression.

"The water has such power here." She looked down into it again. "It's like nothing I've felt before."

"That is because you can sense Ulmo's domain, no doubt," suggested Maglor. "After all, you spoke to him many times."

Míril nodded. "I should like to visit, you know. Someday."

"Someday," Maglor agreed with a small nod. "I am sure that can be arranged."

The boat soon docked at the havens of Avallónë. Maglor helped Eldir and Míril up out of the craft and onto the side. Eldir bid goodnight to them, for he had an errand to run before returning to his house. Before he left though, Maglor pulled him aside.

"When will you introduce them?" Maglor asked Eldir.

"Ruivë wants to meet her as soon as possible, you know that." Eldir whispered back quietly. "But I think it best to let her sleep a night."

At that they parted. Míril had been distracted by a beautiful fountain covered in fragrant periwinkle-colored flowers. They seemed a cross between the soothing scent of pressed lavender and the poignant smell of freshly squeezed lemons. She was mesmerized.

"Come, Míril. I need to get you home. Likely your husband is still awake waiting for you," Maglor said, pushing her forward and snapping her from her stupor. "And unlike we elves, you half elves must sleep. Come!"

Míril yawned in response and followed her guide through the white and grey streets. Hanging plants lined the way from overhangs and lampposts of blue fire lit the walk. When they came at last to Míril's new house, neither one was surprised to find Elrohir wide awake. He sat in the common living room alongside Elrond, Celebrían, and his brother Elladan. They talked quietly, the fire brightly lighting the room with a warm glow that welcomed conversation.

"At last she returns!" Elladan laughed when they walked into the room. "And her guardian close behind."

"He's _not_ my guardian," Míril glared, folding her arms tight across her chest. Maglor nodded silently in agreement.

Elrohir smiled and laughed, getting up and planting a kiss on her lips lightly. "Come, _melda,_ let us retire to bed and be rid of these vagabonds."

Míril laughed and nodded. "Agreed!"

Celebrían rolled her eyes and laughed, pulling her husband out the door. Maglor and Elladan left chuckling. Elladan, living next door, quickly bid farewell to the son of Fëanor. The sun was soon to rise, but a few hours off. Eärendil's Star was already gone from the sky and Tilion, guardian of Telperion's blossom in the moon, had disappeared from sight as well. The world was quiet, but for a soft tinkling of music just out of earshot.


	5. Soaring

Golden light streamed in through the open window in their bedroom, illuminating the room so it was too bright to sleep. The light in the Blessed Realm seemed somehow more pure, as if the light in Middle Earth had been tainted and they hadn't even realized what was missing. 

 

A bird, chirping loudly to a tune they didn't know, was the final straw that woke the couple. Elrohir rolled over and faced his smiling wife. She looked at him lovingly, her eyes full of adoration.

 

“Good morning,  _ melda _ ,” he said quietly, voice gruff as he used it for the first time in hours. 

 

Míril chuckled, planting a kiss on her beloved’s lips. “Good morning.”

 

The bird they had heard earlier continued his song, but it seemed closer. Elrohir sat up suddenly, as in surprise he noticed that the big blue bird was now sitting in their room on the back of a wooden chair.

 

“Hello, good sir,” Elrohir smiled in amusement.

 

Míril turned over in confusion before she noted the bird. She sat up and stood, slipping on some clothes so she could get a better look at it.

 

“It has a note attached to it,” Elrohir told her as she changed into a white dress. “It’s from Eldir.”

 

Míril laughed as she brushed her brown hair. Of course her brother would use a messenger bird. She felt the tight knots in her hair slowly smooth as she worked the brush through them. “Well, what does it say?”

 

Elrohir opened the letter and cleared his throat in mock dramatics. “This is a formal invitation to join myself and a companion to attend a party at the house of Finrod upon Taniquetil this afternoon. Please be at the docks by three. Fancy dress encouraged.”

 

“Another party,” laughed Míril. “My brother sure does seem to enjoy them.”

 

“I wonder who else got the invitation?” Elrohir began strapping on his boots and looked at Míril. She had slipped into her nicest white dress and done her hair back in her fanciest braid. He stopped. “You look stunning as always, my love.” He bent down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

 

Míril thanked him with a chuckle before she too slipped on some comfortable shoes. “It is almost three. We should be going.”

 

Once both had placed their new white cloaks on their shoulders, they bounded down the stairs of their house and out the door. It was clear and only a handful of fluffy white clouds sparkled the blue sky above. Elves wandered Tol Eressëa cheerfully and took little notice of Míril and Elrohir making their way towards the docks.

 

“Míril!” Eldir shouted to his sister and waved the couple over. Beside him stood an elven woman, her blonde hair combed and braided elegantly. She held Eldir’s hand.

 

“Míril.” He nodded. “Elrohir. Meet my wife, Ruivë of the Vanyar.”

 

She smiled widely and bowed to them. “It is such a pleasure to finally meet you both! Eldir talks about you often.”

 

Míril was stunned silent but then she grinned and all the fear left Eldir’s face. “The pleasure is ours, Ruivë! It is good to know my brother has not been alone all these years.”

 

Elrohir agreed. “It is an honor to meet you, lady Ruivë.” He bowed deeply before her.

 

“None of that,” she laughed. “Come, come! The others have already gone ahead. Lord Finrod and Lady Amarië will be expecting us soon.”

 

They boarded the boat, the ladies gingerly stepping on in their beautiful dresses. Ruivë's dress was a pale blue, pale as ice. It floated in the wind and was overlaid by a sheer darker blue lining. In her hair was a blue morning glory pin. 

 

“So the party is upon Taniquetil?” Míril began asking her brother and his wife many questions. “Where… where Lord Manwë and Lady Varda reign.”

 

“Indeed,” Ruivë nodded. “Though not quite where the Valar make their dwelling place. Finrod and Amarië have a house near the Vanyarin palace. Mindelossë, they call it. The Tower of Snow.”

 

“How does one climb Taniquetil?” Elrohir looked somewhat concerned. “Surely it would be impossible.”

 

Ruivë and Eldir laughed. He replied after, shaking his head. “Nay, one does not climb. The young Eagles give us rides.”

 

The couple looked shocked but excited. They dismounted the ship upon reaching the docks at Tirion. Taniquetil was nearby, as anyone who looked at the horizon could tell, but a twenty minute walk through Valinor to the place where the Eagles would take them from. Again, Míril was taken aback by the glorious beauty of Tirion.

 

When they arrived at the Eagles’ landing, Míril and Elrohir stopped in their path. For before them was an eagle so large it dwarfed even the great eagles of the Misty Mountains. Its beak was golden, and its massive eyes a dark brown like it’s feathers.  Majestically perched there on the ground, it was facing Elladan and Maglor.

 

“My… lord…” Míril breathed quietly as it seemed to be speaking to Maglor.  _ Speaking. _

 

“Come, children,” laughed the great Eagle, turning in the direction of the newcomers. “Your party is starting!”

 

Eldir and Ruivë pushed Míril and Elrohir forward until they had joined Maglor and Elladan.

 

“Good morning brother,” nodded Elladan in somewhat of a sarcastic tone as if to say “what the hell is going on.”

 

Míril watched in awe as Ruivë climbed up on the Eagle. “Thank you, Isilmo, for taking us today.”

 

“My pleasure, Lady Ruivë.” The Eagle, Isilmo, bowed his head to her and turned to the others. Maglor and Eldir followed her but the three half elves stood unsure. “Oh do not be frightened, children. I won't drop you.”

 

Elladan at last laughed and through his hands up. “Very well, good sir. Very well!”

 

He followed the others onto Isilmo. Míril and Elrohir made to follow him. As Míril put her hand on the Eagle’s rich brown feathers, she smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

 

“My pleasure, Lady Míril.”

 

As soon as all were situated, the Eagle turned his head. “Hold on tight!”

 

He flapped his wings with great effort. At last the air under them began to rise and slowly they made their way into the sky. Míril was in complete awe. The wind whipped across her face and she grabbed for her husband’s hand in trepidation. But she enjoyed it very much. The world around her faded away, the world age knew was left behind. Instead everything was tiny and it was just her and the sky.

  
After a good twenty minutes of flying, Isilmo landed gently on a large outcrop of the mountain. It was snowing around them now, but it did little to influence their high spirits. After all, they had a party to attend.


	6. Festivities

Míril and company made their way quickly inside out of the snowy air. A Vanyarin warrior stood to either side of the gigantic mahogany doors. These door wardens nodded at Eldir, Ruivë, and Maglor, recognizing each of these familiar faces immediately. They allowed the group on inside, deep into the side of the mountain.

As the rich, dark wood doors were heaved open, Míril noticed they were intricately carved with scenes from somewhere beautiful. She felt it safe to assume that it depicted places in Valinor.

"Impressive," Elladan breathed.

The indoors was bustling with activity. With its vaulted ceilings and carven pillars, Mindelossë would have been impressive even had there not been several hundred guests roaming about in beautiful clothing, drinking glasses of fancy wines while munching on little dishes of food.

The majority of the elves were Vanyar. Their golden tresses gleamed beneath the bright lamps inside the mountain. But there were also dark-haired Noldor, one which Míril recognized immediately due to the golden ribbons in his hair.

"Fingon is here," she told her husband excitedly, causing him to chuckle at her reaction. Yet even he was excited to see the elf again.

Maglor began wandering in the direction of Fingon who was speaking to an elf with golden hair whose back was turned. Beside this elf stood a maiden who Míril suddenly recognized as the lady Amarië. Fingon caught sight of them and smiled. He gestured over for them to join the small company. Finrod and Amarië turned to see them and Finrod grinned widely.

"Friends! I am pleased you could make it!" Finrod took hold of Amarië's hand and together they waited for them to join.

"Thank you, Lord Finrod," Ruivë curtseyed. "As always, we appreciated the invite."

"You know I prefer you drop the formalities, Ruivë," he chuckled. "Now, Míril, Elladan, Elrohir. I do not believe you've been formally introduced to my wife. This is Amarië, my beloved."

Amarië smiled and chuckled lightly at her husband, her laugh as pleasant as falling water. Her golden hair was decoratively situated on her head and her fair face was full of kindness. Míril liked her immediately.

"Greetings, friends," Amarië bowed. "Welcome to Mindelossë!"

"It is incredibly beautiful!" Elladan looked around. "Thank you for having us."

Finrod nodded. "Of course. You are family, after all."

Ruivë looked around and caught sight of someone she evidently knew. "Ammalië!"

The Vanyarin woman turned around and caught sight of Ruivë. She smiled and hurried over to the little group. "Ruivë! Sister!"

The two women laughed and hugged in their reunion. Everyone chuckled at their reactions. Eldir hugged her next.

"Míril, Elladan, Elrohir," Ruivë smiled. "This is my sister, though I'm sure you gathered as much."

The other woman nodded and introduced herself, shaking their hands. "Ammalië."

"Pleasure's ours," Elrohir nodded in response once introductions were all made. He started to joke. "So does every Vanyar know each other here?"

The others all laughed and Amarië responded quickly, "Nay, nay, we do not. Ruivë and Ammalië are noble born."

"We run in the same circles as Finrod and Amarië," revealed Ammalië. "Hence why we're here."

"Makes sense," Míril smiled. "Well, what's to do first?"

"Please! Let us show you around Mindelossë." Finrod insisted this.

Fingon agreed, piping up. "It's quite a sight."

Finrod and Amarië both cheerfully looked around. They decided to take the group to the grand living areas. As they walked, groups of Vanyar and Noldor and the occasional Teleri moved aside and bowed. The grand halls contained high vaulted ceilings, and beautiful rugs of scarlet and gold. The walls were made of some kind of sandy colored stone, and the outermost walls seemed carved into the rock wall of the mountain.

"So how many people are at this gathering today?" Míril asked Finrod Felagund.

"A few hundred. Mostly from the nobles of the Vanyar and Noldor, though there are some Telerin elves here as well," the blonde elf explained to her as they wandered down the corridors. "We hold these parties every once and awhile. Today is to celebrate you and your two companions."

Míril looked at him in surprise. "Us?"

Finrod nodded with a smile. "You are highly regarded in Valinor, you know. All three of you. The retrievers of the Silmaril."

"They are willing to forget the transgressions of the other Fëanorians?" She looked at him in surprise.

"Well, no." He shook his head. "But few hold their deeds against you. Only the Teleri of Alqualondë are hesitant of you."

"Are Galadriel and Celeborn here?" Elrohir asked, coming up alongside Finrod to his other side.

"Ask them yourselves," Finrod laughed, gesturing ahead of them inside a new, large room filled with couches and chairs, decorated with tapestries, and drinks and food scattered around.

Elladan and Elrohir chuckled as they spotted their grandparents and parents. Next to them was a woman with raven black hair and grey eyes. She was incredibly beautiful with her pale, almost white skin, and her dark hair. She seemed to resemble Arwen.

It was Celebrían who caught sight of the little group first. She smiled and waved, gesturing for them to come over. It was then that they fully caught sight of the woman they didn't know.

She was tall and pale, but she had a smile on her face and a light in her eyes that told of one who, though suffered much hardships, has come to love life. Elrond stood and took the woman's hand in his as she joined him. They walked forward.

"Elladan, Elrohir," Elrond smiled. "This is Elwing, your other grandmother."

The twins stared at her, open mouthed in shock. Elwing chuckled at their reactions went towards them looking for a hug. They responded in kind.

"My, you two look so handsome," Elwing said, brushing a tear from her cheek. "Oh how I envy Galadriel and Celeborn for being there during your childhood."

"It is an honor to meet you," Elrohir smiled, feeling a tear in his eye. "I see where our sister got her looks from."

Elrond's face fell slightly but he nodded after recovering quickly. "Indeed."

"And you must be Míril," Elwing smiled, turning her face towards the woman. "Welcome to our family."

"Thank you," Míril bowed. "It is such an honor to meet you!"

Elwing shook her head and took Míril's hands in her own. "The honor is mine, bearer of a Silmaril. You are like my husband, you know."

"I cannot be considered in such company as Eärendil the Mariner!" Míril objected immediately, blushing.

Galadriel laughed, coming over. "You underestimate yourself. You always have."


	7. Journey to Ilmarin

The small group was sitting on the couches talking when they were interrupted by an especially tall Vanyarin elf. He bowed before Finrod and Galadriel and the other noble elves before turning to address the whole group.

"His Majesty Ingwë, High King of the Vanyar, Vassal of Lord Manwë, High King of the Valar, extends a formal invitation to the Lords Elladan, and Elrohir, and the Lady Míril, to visit the highest of highs upon Taniquetil at Ilmarin where they will meet Lord Manwë and Lady Varda of the Valar tonight under the stars." He bowed again. "With them may come the Lords Finrod, Fingon, Celeborn, Maglor, and Elrond, and the Ladies Elwing, Amarië, Galadriel, and Celebrían."

"Thank you, sir," bowed Finrod. "We formally accept and will arrive there promptly this evening. Thank your masters for us."

The herald nodded quickly and quietly before leaving the room. Eldir and Ruivë smiled and chuckled that they had been left out.

"But surely you can come?" Míril frowned.

Eldir shook his head. "Perhaps another time. We have visited enough. There must be a reason we were not included. Frankly I am more surprised Maglor got an invite."

Maglor agreed wholeheartedly.

Fingon turned to his friend. "Have you been back to see the Valar?"

"Once." He nodded. "Immediately after I was released from the Halls, we had a long chat."

"At least we're all already dressed for tonight," Elwing pointed out happily. "It has been some time since I last set foot in Ilmarin."

Míril was bursting with excitement. She grabbed her husband's hand and squeezed it, unable to contain herself.

"I think Míril is excited," chuckled Elrohir.

Míril stared at him in amusement. "Of course I am! We get to meet the King and Queen of the Valar!"

After another half hour of talking, Eldir and Ruivë were called aside by a Noldor. No one heard what was said but they bid farewell to the others soon after to accompany the Noldorin messenger.

"We should start the climb soon," Finrod told the others. "I hope you wore comfortable shoes."

"How do we get there?" Míril asked. "How long is the climb?"

"From here, it's about a five hour walk," Amarië replied with a smile. "There are spots to rest along the way."

"We should start then!" Elladan nodded excitedly. He stood immediately from the couch he had sat down on and danced on the balls of his feet.

Fingon laughed merrily. "You certainly are eager. All of you. Yet you speak truly."

Finrod, Amarië, Galadriel, and Celeborn led the way through the vaulted halls of Mindelossë to the front gate. The others followed close behind them. As they exited the mansion, the chill wind whipped the long hair of the elves into their faces before calming down. Míril breathed in the wintery air deeply. It had a calming effect on her.

"Shall we?" Fingon gestured to the path before them.

The little group started up the path. As they walked, Finrod explained to them all about Ilmarin and Taniquetil.

Ilmarin sat on a pair of plateaus north of the summit of Taniquetil. On three sides there were sheer cliffs, but the western side was approachable from below. A winding road led up the side of the mountain. At some of the switchbacks stood small memorials to various tragedies or acts of valor.

The first they came across was a plaque on a red and blue marble obelisk. It was a tribute to Fingon himself for his deeds in Middle Earth when he rescued Maedhros.

"For Findékano, the Valiant, who brought peace where there was only hostility."

"Look!" Maglor laughed. "You got a plaque!"

Fingon smirked. "Of course I did."

Another hour down the road and Elwing stopped at a large statue of a ship with a plaque before it. She sighed and touched the prow of the white ship statue.

"In Honor of Eärendil, the eternal Mariner. A light in dark places."

A tear dripped down her cheek as she stood there. Elrond placed a hand on her shoulder in comfort. He whispered something quietly in her ear and she nodded to him, brushing her tears away.

They kept moving. Three hours had passed by the time they reached the first stop. A large overlook with many benches was there. They spent twenty minutes drinking water and looking out over Valinor. Míril was too excited to do much sitting.

The group continued soon enough. It was getting colder as they made their way up the mountain. Even the elves began to feel slightly uncomfortable. As they turned the last corner, they found a final monument. The final was a white obelisk dedicated simply.

"To those who took the white ships east, never to return."

Fingon, Maglor, and Finrod all stood there, looking sadly at the monument. For they all knew those who had stayed behind or died there, as they themselves did as well. After several minutes of intense silence, with only the sound of the rushing wind, they turned away.

"Last leg of the journey," Celebrían smiled. "Come, come! Let us get going."

Galadriel laughed at her daughter. Together the group began the last twenty minutes of their walk. As they approached, Míril, Elladan, and Elrohir looked in awe up at the giant mansion halls that was Ilmarin. At last they reached the great doorways and they were heaved open by an invisible force.

As they walked inside, the first thing Míril noticed was the ceiling. For it wasn't a ceiling at all, as far as she could tell. It was a clear view of the night sky. The stars were so bright, they helped light the great entry hall. The deep blue sky behind the stars was cloudless.

"Oh," Míril breathed as she stared up at the sky. "Oh wow."

Elladan and Elrohir echoed her sentiments. As they tore their gazes away from the enchanted ceiling, they noticed the great rows of statues along the walls. Míril recognized few of them, but she saw one that reminded her of Arwen.

"That is Luthien," Elwing revealed to her. "My grandmother."

As Míril stared at the statue, taking in every detail of this reproduction of the most beautiful elf to ever live. The statue captured the movement of her dancing fluidly. It shocked her just how well done this marble statue was.

"Come. Through the East entrance," Fingon told them. "You will have time to explore later. For now we must see the Valar."

Míril stepped through the gateway into the throne room. Guards stood in front of each half of the open door. Míril wondered what use two elves would be against a foe that got this far, and rightly guessed that this was the safest assignment for a soldier in all of Arda.

The room was a half circle with the entrance at the center of the flat wall and the throne at the far end. Along the curved wall were massive stained glass windows, twelve in total, each depicting a Vala besides the high King and Queen. Looking up, Míril saw that there was no roof, and noticed that top of the curved walls slowly dipped until they reached ground level somewhere behind the throne. In truth, one could walk through the gap into a great courtyard which alone of all Ilmarin was kept for only The Powers to use.

Along the flat wall were great tapestries depicting the ages of the world. The first showed the Great Lamps, and the duel of Eonwë and Morgoth amidst the fires of their destruction. The second showed the Two Trees, and by some art or magic even their picture in cloth gave off a beautiful glow. The third depicted the heroics of the First Age of the sun, with Beren and Luthien most prominent. On the fourth were Gil-Galad and Elendil in their duel with Sauron.

The fifth Míril payed the most attention too, for it was for the Third Age. In a great circle as wide as the cloth was written in glowing letters the poem of the One Ring. Within this circle there were depictions of the heroics of the Fellowship: among them were Gandalf facing the Witch-King at the gates of Minas Tirith, Sam against Shelob, Aragorn at the Black Gate, and many others. Outside the poem were depictions of great battles that happened long before the War of the Ring: The Battle of Fornost, Dain killing Azog, The White Council driving Sauron from Dol Goldur, and Bard slaying the dragon.

The sixth and final tapestry was mostly blank, showing only Aragorn's coronation and the great quest for the Silmaril. Above the sewn shining jewel was a fellowship of nine, two with bright red hair. Her children.

Míril turned back towards the throne. Approaching it, she saw that it was in fact a golden sculpture of a great eagle, it's wings wrapping around the bench upon which Manwë and Varda sat. The eagle's eyes were white gems which glowed in Varda's presence; Míril would have thought them the most beautiful gems in the world, if she had not seen the Silmaril.

But the most impressive of all were the two figures sitting on the thrones.


	8. Ultimate Beauty

Míril looked upon the Valar in terrible awe. They were quite tall, which added to the fear they inspired. On the left throne sat Varda Elentári, Queen of the Stars. Her hair, dark as night and long enough to reach her waist, was flecked with shining white gems reminiscent of the stars themselves. Her flowing blue gown shimmered lightly and seemed to change between light and dark with every move Míril made. Her skin was pale as ice, and her eyes silver. Upon her head was a crown of mithril and elven glass.

Beside her sat Manwë Sulimo, Lord of the Skies. He was clothed in robes of blue as well, though his were thick and distinctly dark on the outside and light for the inner garments. In contrast to Varda's raven-black hair, his own was white as the clouds. His skin was pale, but not as pale as his wife's. Blue eyes looked down upon the visitors.

"Welcome, Míril, descendant of Fëanor. And Welcome Elladan and Elrohir, descendants of Luthien." Manwë nodded to them in greeting. His voice was not as deep as Ulmo's, but it demanded the same respect and dignity.

Elladan and Elrohir both fell into single knee bows. Míril was so awestruck, she remained standing for a few moments before joining them.

"My King, my Queen," Elrohir breathed emotionally. "It is above all honor that you meet with us."

Varda smiled lightly. "My dear children, stand. Be without fear. For you are honored guests in Ilmarin, at our request."

Míril could not take her eyes off Varda. This was the Lady Elbereth, the Vala whose songs she had played, whose hymns she had sung. And now, here she was, in person. And she was more magnificent than Míril had ever imagined.

"Your majesties," Finrod said as he and the others knelt quickly before standing. "Thank you for the invitation. We were unsure when to bring these three."

"Of course, Findaráto," Manwë nodded. "Thank you, all of you, for showing them the way."

"We wished to express our deepest gratitude for your retrieval of the Silmaril." Varda smiled gently at Míril in particular. "That was no easy feat."

Míril nodded before finally speaking. "I had help."

Manwë gave a tiny, rueful smile. "Indeed. Ulmo did much."

"And for this we are grateful," Varda nudged her husband.

"Of course," Manwë nodded eagerly. "Do not think otherwise."

After a moment in which there was silence as the trio gazed on the Valar, and the other elves watched the trio humorously, Míril stepped forward.

"My Lord, My Lady," she said, tears in her eyes. "I must thank you, thank you for allowing me across the Sea."

Varda dipped her head and Manwë nodded.

He looked at her in kindness. "You were judged worthy."

"Míril," Varda smiled at her too. "We were watching you closely for many years. I knew you were worthy from the moment you pledged your life to protecting Aragorn. But the doom of Mandos spoke had to be fulfilled."

Elrohir took the step forward so he was even with his wife. Taking her hand in his, he looked from her face to the faces of the Valar. "Lady Varda, Lord Manwë, it is said that you can see all of Middle Earth when you look out together. I suppose from what you have said that you did so recently. Can… can you see our children?"

Varda and Manwë both laughed. It sounded like music. It was Varda who spoke in response.

"Indeed, we spend much time watching the exploits of young Aderthon, Fëalas, and Círeth. For they and the children of Aragorn and Arwen are the future of Middle Earth." Varda paused. "There will come a time when you may look out into their lives. I shall have my handmaiden show you where this is possible."

"Oh thank you, my Lady," Míril nodded quickly, tears in her eyes. She missed her children.

Elrohir echoed her sentiments quickly. Elladan smiled and put a hand on his brother's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. This was good news indeed.

Varda and Manwë turned from the trio and looked at the others.

"Findékano, we have good news for you." Manwë dipped his head to him.

Fingon looked startled but smiled, coming forward. As he did so, a woman, dark haired and clothed all in white, came out of the shadows and walked to the group.

"Aredhel! Sister!" Fingon shouted in joy. He ran to her and she to him, both crying tears of joy, for Aredhel had been released from the Halls.

"From this day forward, Írissë Aredhel Ar-Feiniel is free to live in Valinor once more." Manwë smiled at their reunion. "May your days be blessed."

"Thank you again, my King and Queen," she bowed before them.

Varda noted that Míril was yawning. She gave a small smile, feeling pity for her. "I believe it is time the half-elves got sleep."

Míril tried to protest but it did nothing. Elladan and Elrohir joined in but Manwë raised his eyebrow when Míril have a huge yawn in the middle of a sentence, which shut down all hope of protest.

"Findékano, Findaráto, you know where the Inn is. Take them there." Manwë told the two senior Noldor.

All the visitors knelt before the Valar once more before leaving. Míril did not wish to leave, so enthralled by their beauty was she. But Fingon assured her there was much beauty to come.

They wandered through the Northern gateway of the main hall. It led to a path of stone steps down into a circular courtyard about five hunsred feet in diameter filled with beautiful gardens and ponds. All the ponds were connected by small streams, fed by a seemingly natural spring in the center. The water glowed with a faint light, as though somewhere deep within each pool lay a Silmaril.

Elladan looked deep down into the water. "Incredible."

Fingon began to explain the them that this light and the Silmarils' shared the same source: here high above the plains of Valinor a single pool of Telperion's dew had escaped the touch of Ungoliant's hunger. Varda's servants cared for the water day and night, and thanks to their efforts one could still see what the water in the Wells of Varda had looked like during the Days of the Trees over seven millennia ago.

This courtyard was contained within a complex of interconnected buildings. On the west side was Manwë's Library, which housed all the writings of the Valar and Maiar, as well as a selection of Elvish theses on science and history. It held so many priceless original manuscripts and so few books written in Elvish tongues that it was more of a museum than a place of study.

There was only a few hundred feet between the end of the central garden and the edge of the cliffs to the north of Ilmarin. In this space stood three mansions, each of which had a view of Tirion to the north. The Western of these three belonged to the Vanyar, and was often occupied by King Ingwë. The Northernmost building, the central of the three, belonged to Ilmare. The Western building was Manwë and Varda's guest house.

The Eastern third of the complex was an inn. In its southern wing lived those working in Ilmarin. In truth it was fairly empty, for most Maiar in the service of the high King and Queen took physical form only at need, and did not rest in the manner of men or elves. Those of the Eldar that worked in Ilmarin lived here in great comfort. The southern wing, reserved for guests, was always crowded.

"Here we are," Finrod smiled as they approached the massive complex that was the inn. "There is a place to get wine and food in the center. But let us get rooms first."


	9. The Eagle Guard

Míril and Elrohir found themselves given a beautiful room overlooking the clouds. When the clouds moved, Tirion was in sight down below. The room was painted a very pale, grey blue. It created a relaxed atmosphere, and the marble columns at the head of the grand, king sized bed completed the look.

Míril looked out over the horizon. "I never would have imagined this, Elrohir. Not in a million years."

"Truly," her husband said, standing beside her as they overlooked the clouds. "It is miraculous here."

Moments later, a knock sounded on their door. As Elrohir opened it, he found Finrod and Maglor standing there. Míril didn't catch the details of what was said but gathered that everyone was heading to the Feasting Hall for drinks and fellowship.

"Míril, love, would you care to join them?" Elrohir asked her, turning to his wife.

She smiled, still watching the sky. She turned around and nodded. "Indeed!" Míril slipped her feet back into her shoes and they caught up with the others.

The blue rugs on the white marble floor added a warmth to the hallways that was lacking otherwise. As Elrohir, Míril, Finrod, Fingon, Maglor, Elladan, and Amarië made their way to the Feasting Hall of the inn, Míril looked at the hanging tapestries. There was one that caught her eye in particular. It was a tapestry depicting a beautiful woman and a tall, silver haired elf atop a hill and surrounded by trees. Above them were a thousand shining stars.

"What is this one?" Míril asked inquisitively. "It is beautiful!"

"That is a depiction of Lady Melian and Lord Elwë at their first meeting," Maglor told her.

Míril nodded and they turned the corner into the hall. It had immensely high ceilings and many tables. The Feasting Hall was populated by several elves tonight, but one stood out in particular.

"Glorfindel!" Fingon called to him as they caught sight of the golden haired elven warrior.

The elf looked over from where he sat talking with two silver haired elven men. He smiled and raised a hand in greeting. He mentioned something to his companions. They all stood and gestured for the newcomers to join them.

"Greetings, friends," Glorfindel nodded and bowed his head. "May I introduce to Elladan, Elrohir and Míril to my friends, Haldanáro and Carmegil."

"Greetings, Lords," all three said as they bowed before the grand warriors.

"Carmegil," murmured Míril. "That's Sindarin."

He nodded to her. "Yes. I was an elf first of Doriath and then of Mirkwood until the end of the War of the Ring. I was King Oropher's captain."

"Indeed?" Elrohir nodded. "I remember stories of you told in Rivendell and Lothlorien. A great warrior with silver hair."

Carmegil chuckled. "That would be me, yes."

"Míril, Elladan, Elrohir," bowed Haldanáro, "It is an honor to meet the bearers of a Silmaril. Few can accomplish that feat."

"Thank you, lord," Elladan smiled.

Finrod interrupted their pleasantries. "These three men, they are members of the Eagle Guard."

"Eagle Guard?" asked Míril excitedly. "What is the Eagle Guard?"

"Only the finest warriors in all of Valinor and Middle Earth!" Fingon revealed to them quickly. "10,000 strong at all times. Made up of Teleri, Sindar, Vanyar, and Noldor together, led by Eonwë, herald of Manwë."

"We had the privilege of being trained by one of them?" breathed Míril in surprise as she looked fondly and in awe upon Glorfindel.

"Yes," he bowed with a smile. "I have been a member of the Guard for many a millennia. And it was my honor to train the house of Elrond and their companions."

"I should like to meet Lord Eonwë," Míril decided aloud.

Glorfindel nodded with a smirk. "He is quite looking forward to meeting two of you. Míril, you are one of them."

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged worried and curious glances. Míril chuckled at her friends' plight and turned back to the elven warriors as the twins began bickering with one another.

Haldanáro spoke up with a smile, distracting them. "Glorfindel jests, friends! But I warn you, do not start a story with Eonwë and expect to finish in less than several hours. He asks many questions."

Carmegil snorted. "Truer words were never spoken in Arda." He took a sip of the red wine he held.

The trio hadn't realized the others had disappeared until they returned bearing wine goblets.

"Come let us a drink a little," Fingon grinned as he raised his cup to the sky. "A toast, to those we've lost."

Everyone held up their cups to the sky and they shared an intense moment of silence. The Telerin Haldanáro thought of his friends, slaughtered at the beaches and docks of Alqualondë, Glorfindel made only thought to his other companion, Ecthelion, one time Eagle Guard member. The other Noldor had only minds for their family members, long awaiting release from the Halls. Míril's mind went to her children.

At last they sat, all at the table to enjoy themselves. A young elf brought over some sweets for them to nibble on as they talked. Before long however, Míril grew weary. All the talk of battles did two things to her. On the one hand, she thirsted to have a sword in her grasp again. She wanted to practice her swordplay desperately. But on the other, it made her weary and sad. It reminded her of all she had lost.

She remembered many years ago, nearly forty years back, something Maglor had said to her.

* * *

_"Do you know what I hear when I listen to these crashing waves?"_

_Míril shrugged. "Music? Voices? That is what comes to my mind."_

_He gave a bitterly rueful half smile. "That is because you are pure- for now."_

_He turned to her swiftly, a fierce expression on his face. "No, Míril Fëanoriel! When I hear the waves, I hear the screams of dying children, the cries of wounded mothers. I see in my mind the blood that I spilled because of my vengeance. I blocked it out at the time, made myself strong with my anger. But afterwards, it rushes in just like these waves. It consumes you!"_

_Míril took a step back from him. She saw in his eyes a pain that she hoped to never see again. It frightened her. *_

* * *

While Míril hadn't committed the treasonous acts that Maglor once had, she was tired of death. She was haunted by the hate filled eyes of her youngest daughter, and her mind would not allow her to forget the pain.

When her mind finally wandered back to the conversation, she found Calmegil telling a story about his own part in the War of the Ring.

"I told Nimwing to hurry up and help me. Youths these days. Always need poking and prodding," he shook his head, taking another drink. "We managed to get to the Elvenking in time and banished Khamûl from Mirkwood. Not sure where he ended up though."

Míril felt a smile tugging at her lips at the irony. "He ended up fighting me!"

Carmegil also smirked. "Is that so? Well, I'm glad you did away with him."

"You can thank Elrohir for that one," Míril shrugged. "Khamûl almost killed me in my rage."

They continued to talk for another hour. When at last there were but a couple hours before dawn, the half elves retired to bed to grab just a few hours' sleep. They bitterly said goodbye, not wanting to leave the joyous hall. It had been a wonderful night.

* * *

_A/N: * Flashback from The Other Ranger: Chapter 89: Cannot or Will Not_


	10. House of the Handmaiden

In the morning, after a few hours rest, Míril and Elrohir awoke in the inn of Ilmarin. The bright Sun, guided by the Maia Arien, radiated beams of light and warmth into their room. It came in through the skylight in the ceiling above them, shafts of brilliant sunshine, cascading down on them and warming their skin. 

 

Míril rolled over and grabbed a glass of, miraculously, still cool water. Sitting up on the comfy bed, she took a sip. It cooled her parched throat in contrast to the warming rays of sunlight on her body.

 

“Elrohir, my love.” She whispered to him, hugging his back, “We should probably be rising.”

 

A knock on the door at that instant seemed to confirm her suspicions. She jumped up and smoothed her night gown. With shuffling feet, Míril walked to the door and opened it quietly. Outside were Fingon and Maglor.

 

“Good morning!” Fingon spoke loudly and happily as he saw her, purposefully being as obnoxious as possible. “Are you two rested enough?”

 

“We are now,” Elrohir glared at Fingon from where he came up behind Míril in his loose shirt and pants.

 

Fingon looked at him with a playful smirk while Maglor nearly went to slap his good friend in the face for being cheeky. The latter instead rolled his eyes and turned to Míril.

 

“Elladan is getting breakfast at the moment. I figured we would give you two a few extra moments’ rest.” Maglor continued after they nodded their appreciation. “Once you have gotten dressed, meet us in the feasting hall.”

 

They all agreed and the two elves left their door, leaving the couple to dress. Míril put on the same dress she had worn the previous day, having no other dress available. Elrohir did the same with his clothes. They both wished silently that they had known to bring extras, but alas, it mattered not.

 

Hand in hand, the couple left their room and walked silently to the feasting hall. There they found Carmegil and Glorfindel with Elladan, Fingon, and Maglor. Food was there already for them.

 

“Good morning again.” Míril smiled at Fingon and Maglor before turning to the others. “And good morning to you three as well!”

 

Carmegil nodded his greeting, mouth full of food while Glorfindel smiled and spoke up. “Truly it shall be a good day.”

 

“Why?” Elrohir asked him curiously.

 

The golden haired elf responded with a quiet smile. “You are going to meet one of the most powerful in Valinor.”

 

Míril, Elrohir, and Elladan wondered what he meant. They were very confused all throughout their breakfast of eggs and meats and breads. As breakfast drew to a close, the seven elves moved to leave the Inn. 

 

Setting foot outside, for the first time in day time, Míril found herself in awe yet again. They stepped on the path of hard slabs that guided their way, but beside the path was exquisite bright green grass. She dared to step into it, slipping off her shoes for a moment. She felt the blades between her toes. They tickled, but it was not unpleasant. She could feel how alive it was.

 

Fingon shouted back at her to ask her to join them and she realized her friends were far ahead. They were approaching the first of the large buildings she had noticed the night before. She couldn't remember what Finrod had said it was.

 

Whatever it was, it was beautiful. Large, made of white stone and blue and white marble, but softened by draping sky blue curtains over the door, the house was incredibly impressive. Glorfindel had them halt outside of it.

 

For several minutes they stood before Míril finally broke and lay in the grass, soaking up the sun. Elrohir joined her and soon Fingon and Elladan lounged around too. After fifteen minutes however, they were interrupted.

 

An Eagle flew towards the seven elves.  It was small, no larger than those "lesser" eagles of Middle Earth that were no more than animals.  Glorfindel held out his arm and to Miril's surprise it landed there.

  
  
"The Lady will see you now" said the bird, shocking Miril and the Sons of Elrond.

  
  
Apparently Elladan did not hide his surprise well enough, because the eagle looked him square in the eyes.  "Yes, I talk!" said the bird angrily, before flying off towards the north end of the gardens.

  
  
"I'm glad I didn't ask if I could pet him!" said Miril, half honestly and half mocking Elladan's error.

  
  
"Yes, that would have been a problem." said Glorfindel with a laugh.  "We should go see Her Grace at once.  She is not the sort one ought to keep waiting."

 

They walked up to the door and pushed past the soft blue curtains. Glorfindel and Carmegil led the way. Míril noted that even Fingon stepped more gingerly and with greater thought, almost like he had when meeting the Valar.

 

Then they saw her.

  
  
She was beautiful like the Valar, yet more tangible and less otherworldly.  She could easily have passed for a child of Manwe and Varda.  Her violet eyes and black hair had a noble beauty no queen of the Eldar could match.  Surely this, Elladan and Elrohir thought, must be one of Luthien's kin.

  
  
They could not have been more right, for this was Ilmarë, Handmaiden of Varda and perhaps the greatest of the Maiar, the blood of which Luthien shared through Melian.  Among her own kind only Eonwë and Sauron were her peers.  Few even among the Valar were clearly more powerful than she.

  
  
Glorfindel and Carmegil snapped to attention as she approached, and addressed her as "Your Grace."  Before they could explain their purpose, Ilmarë spoke.

  
  
"Elladan, Elrohir, and Miril" she began, shaking their hands.  "I am honored to finally meet you."  Ilmare's voice was soft and kind.

  
  
"The honor is ours, Your Grace." Elrohir replied in awe.

  
  
"I hope you have found Ilmarin to your liking," the Maia continued.  "I am Ilmarë, Handmaiden of Varda."

  
  
Ilmarë turned briefly to Carmegil. She knew him well. "Take this to the eyries" she commanded, handing him a sealed letter.

  
  
"Yes, Your Grace" he replied, and went swiftly back down the path towards the south.

 

The twins and Míril stood, absolutely shocked to see Carmegil take orders from anyone. Based on the way he acted, and the way he told his stories, they hadn't thought it possible.

 

Ilmarë spoke then to Miril.  "I understand that you wish to see your children.  There is a tool in Ilmarin, commonly called 'The Eye,' which should allow you this.  It is currently in use, but I have asked that it be made available to you soon."

  
  
"Thank you, Your Grace.” Míril bowed, small tears forming in her eyes as she thought of her children, sundered from her by seas of space and time.   


  
"You may call me Ilmarë," she said with a smile.  "We need not stand on ceremony today.  You passed through great danger to bring us the Silmaril, and today you are our honored guests."

 

Elladan smiled and bowed to her. “For that we are truly grateful.”


	11. Sea Light

Ilmarë smiled at them and nodded her head to acknowledge their gratitude. "I have brought you here for a very particular reason. Míril, someone wishes to speak with you."

"Who, my lady?" Míril cocked her head in confusion as she tried to think of who would need to speak to her.

Ilmarë walked to a large curtain that draped over a door in her house. She drew back the curtain with a slow and steady movement, revealing the visitor behind. A woman, seated on a comfortable couch, turned to them and stood. She was tall, slender and lithe. Her skin was pale but seemed blue in certain lights. Hair as gold as the sun trickled down her back and chest in curly waves.

Ilmarë began introductions as the woman all but floated over to them. "This is Calairien, Maia of Ulmo."

"Thank you, Ilmarë," nodded Calairien. "Míril, I am here on behalf of Ulmo."

Míril stared into the woman's deep, grey-green eyes. She was beautiful, more otherworldly than Ilmarë. Her dress was white and flowing, with sapphire and emerald shards in dazzling patterns. Her hands, or perhaps gloves, were scaled all the way to her elbow where it began to fade into normal skin. The name Calairien, Sea Light, was not unwarranted for wherever she stepped seemed to momentarily glow with a pale, sea blue light.

"What does the Lord need?" Míril gazed at her in amazement and hope.

Calairien smiled and gave a soft laugh. "He wishes to meet you, for he seems to believe you wish to meet him."

Elrohir and Elladan smiled as Míril nodded immediately and responded. "Yes, my lady. I would very much like to meet the Vala."

"And so you shall," Ilmarë smiled at her. "Calairien is here to bring you to him. Elladan, Elrohir, you may remain here, if you wish, with Fingon and Maglor."

Elrohir nodded immediately. "We would be grateful for that chance, Lady Ilmarë." He knew that Míril needed to do this by herself. She had a unique connection to the Lord of Waters that he didn't quite comprehend, but respected nonetheless.

With a grateful smile at her husband, Míril turned back to Calairien. "I am ready, when you are, my lady."

"Call me Calairien. I insist." The Maia laughed long and hard. "I am no great lady, but a servant of the seas."

"Alright," Míril smiled at her and turned back to Ilmarë. "Thank you, Your Grace, for allowing this meeting here. I hope to return and complete my tour of Ilmarin."

"You will be very welcome here," Ilmarë gave her a small, gracious bow and reminded her of one very important thing. "I'll make sure the Eye is available to you when you return."

Míril expressed her thanks before turning to Calairien. The Maia of Ulmo gestured for her to leave the house. As they walked on the surprisingly warm stone pathways, Míril began to ask the Maia questions.

"Where is Lord Ulmo?" She wondered if she would have to swim.

Calairien nodded. "Ulmo makes his residence deep in the sea. He rarely takes form, but when he does come ashore, he prefers to do so at a small beach north of Alqualondë."

"That will be a long walk," Míril sighed sadly. "Not unpleasant though, I suppose."

Calairien chuckled. "Do not worry. Lord Manwë has allowed us use of an eagle. Isilmo is his name, I believe."

Míril smiled. "Ah! I know this eagle. He is very kind."

"Truly?" Calairien asked. "Well then, he is better behaved than most eagles."

They walked in silence, approaching the edge of the cliff. In a large, green space there was Isilmo, the massive golden eagle of the Manwë. He saw them immediately and seemed to almost smile.

"Greetings again Míril, and you must be Calairien of the Maiar." Isilmo bowed his head. "It is good to make your acquaintance."

"Truly you are more polite than most of your kind," Calairien laughed. "I am glad to have met you, Isilmo of Thorondor's line."

Isilmo gave a short laugh. "It is because I am well mannered that I act as a transport. Though I begrudge none for their use of me. Climb on!"

The two women did as instructed. Míril went first, followed by Calairien. The Maia explained to Míril that usually she, like Ulmo, did not take physical form. She prefered to be one with the shallow waters of the sea, where the light filters through and touches the seashells.

"It will be quite an experience, riding an eagle. I have not done so in many years." Calairien smiled wistfully. "Isilmo, we are ready."

"Hold on, though not too tightly." Isilmo flapped his wings and leapt off the edge of the mountain.

The wind flew through her Míril's brown hair, sending it flying every which way. Her eyes grew watery and soon she closed them to protect herself. For the first time in many years she truly felt cold, frigid, as the air rushed against her skin. She ducked, trying to make herself as flat against Isilmo's back as possible. This was much faster than the trip up to Mindelossë had taken.

After about twenty minutes of flying, the intensity dropped. They were close now, and Míril opened her eyes again. Isilmo began to land on Alqualondë's beach and Míril gasped audibly. It was beautiful. As they dismounted Isilmo, Míril crouched down and ran her hand through the beach's sand. For it wasn't just sand, but it contained millions of tiny crystalline stones, some red, some blue, some clear. Rounded shards of sapphire and ruby and quartz, topaz, tourmaline, and crystal. They sparkled in the sand endlessly, as far as her eyes could see.

"Come, Míril," Calairien said softly as to the woman. "There is more to be seen."

They thanked Isilmo. He nodded and told them to make some distance from him, for he would spray up a lot of sand on his departure. They did as instructed. Calairien led Míril, bare feet in the shallows, north along the beach. They entered a small cove. Míril could feel the power and uniqueness of this place. It reminded her of the cave in the White Mountains where she had first clearly heard Ulmo's voice.

Calairien retreated into the shallows without a word while Míril's back was turned. As the woman moved to speak to her, she heard a loud roar like a large wave.


	12. Power of the Deep

Out of the great sea arose a figure, tall and kingly. Of great stature was he, at least ten feet tall. He had black and silver hair, and a short beard. His armor was a deep sea blue, with a cape of translucent blue fish scales. Míril was amazed and fell to her knees.

"Arise, child." Ulmo flashed a small smile at her.

He began to shrink in size until he was about the height of an ordinary elf. Ulmo took a step out of the water and onto the shore, taking Míril's hand and raising her to her feet.

"While the honor you do me is appreciated, it is not needed." Ulmo looked at her seriously. "For though you are more strong in spirit and worthy of song than you know, I do not require homage."

"My Lord," she finally managed to say through a rush of tears. "Lord Ulmo! You look different."

"That is my name, yes." He almost laughed. "And Míril Fëanoriel is yours. Bearer of the Silmaril. As for my looks, I can take most any form I wish."

She accepted his answer with a small shrug before continuing. "Lord I would have given up long before the end had you not given me your assistance," she insisted, shaking her head.

Ulmo agreed with her. "You are not the first that I have helped."

Míril supposed this was true. Between giving Tuor special armor and directions, saving Elwing by turning her into a swan, and guiding Finrod and Turgon to found their cities, Ulmo seemed to be the only Vala that actively helped the free peoples.

"Lord Ulmo," Míril began slowly. "Why do you continue to help the people of Middle Earth?"

Ulmo flashed her a tiny, wry smile. He shook his head and turned away from her, back towards the sea. He avoided the question. "There are others who wish to meet you."

Míril did not push her question, instead intrigued by his statement. She looked past the Vala and back into the water of the sea cove. The water began to bubble in two spots, the surface of the water agitating. Out of the left spot rose a woman. Tall and fair she was, hair of yellowy gold and clothes of turquoise. The other was fair skinned as well, but with hair of silver like the Teleri, and clothes dark blue as the deep sea. Both had eyes of varying shades of blue.

"These you have seen as well. They are Ossë and Uinen, my chief Maiar." Ulmo gestured to them and both left the water to join the two on land.

"It is very nice to meet you in person, Míril," Uinen smiled immediately and took the half-elf's hands in her own. "For you helped return the Light to us!"

"Thank you, Lady Uinen." Míril bowed her head. She instantly liked Uinen.

Ossë cocked an eyebrow but nodded. "We are grateful for that, indeed. I am Ossë. Pleasure to meet you." He inclined his head in greeting as he stood with his arms folded.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Ossë," Míril smiled at him sweetly, determined to kill his frowning face with kindness.

Suddenly though, she grew solemn as her mind drifted to Ulmo's help in her own life. Míril raised her face to meet the Lord of Waters' own deep, sapphire blue eyes. She had a question on her tongue which she could not bring herself to broach.

Yet Ulmo sensed her inquiry. "Ask, Míril Fëanoriel."

At that name, Míril seemed to grow stronger in mind and spirit. "Ulmo. Could we have saved her?"

The Valar visibly saddened for a moment before quickly hiding it. He knew of whom she spoke. "Your daughter's spirit was alike to Fëanor's."

"Ulmo." Míril shook her head and felt herself growing nervous, so repeated her question. "Could we have saved her?"

With a sigh, he responded. "I do not know. Mandos may have the answers you seek, but I do not."

She nodded, letting her head bow towards the ground. She looked at the waves near her feet and felt tears coming to her eyes. She and her husband had done their best in raising Tinneth. They had done all they thought best for her. Yet in the end they had failed. She hoped now that they had not failed her other children by leaving them in Middle Earth.

She buckled over as she thought more of Tinneth and what had happened there. The pain in her side increased exponentially. With a sudden cry, she collapsed to her knees, falling into the shallow waves as they washed over the sand. Uinen looked immediately concerned, taking her hands again.

"Breathe, child. Breathe," she wiped the sweat from Míril's forehead and cooled her with her power. Uinen's touch felt like a cold, damp cloth on her warm skin.

Ulmo looked at her long. "You have yet to see Lorien and Estë? That should be your next stop, eager one. You came to Valinor for healing, not to play."

Míril began to cry then, and Uinen embraced her. Ossë shuffled his feet, watching as his wife cared for the half elf. Ulmo bent down next to her and touched her side where the pain was intensifying. The pain began to subside and Míril was able to free her mind from the traumatic images.

"Shh, little one," Uinen hugged her tightly. "Lady Estë and Lord Irmo will make all this right for you."

Míril nodded into Uinen's shoulder and stood with her help, feeling the place the wound had been four years ago. She felt the scar and sighed. It was a constant reminder to her and her husband of their failure.

Ulmo looked at her deep in the eyes. "Míril Fëanoriel. Bearer of a Silmaril. Warrior of Middle Earth and Guardian of the Line of Luthien. Take care of yourself."

Míril almost laughed at this charge. It was something Aragorn had always told her. In Middle Earth, especially back in the Third Age, she had been known for avoiding treatment as much as possible. Always Aragorn pestered her to take better care of herself.

 _Some things never change,_ she supposed. Outwardly she nodded and spoke. "I shall, my lord. I- I believe I am ready to visit Lorien."

With a small smile, Ulmo nodded to her. He stepped back two paces into the water, allowing it to envelope his bare feet and the bottom of his cape. He grew to full stature then once more, at least ten feet in height. He summoned a trident out of the sea with it, a conch shell of tremendous size. It was one of the Ulumúri, the horns of Ulmo. He put it to his lips and let out a single, deep, melodious note. Míril instantly felt like she recognized the music, for it reminded her of the times she would listen to falling water in Middle Earth. It was a deep music of the world.

Suddenly a great Eagle appeared in the sky. Its brown feathers and golden beak were soon recognizable. It was Isilmo once more. The enormous Eagle landed on a rock in the cove. Upon his back was Elrohir. The man looked in amazement upon Ulmo, Ossë, and Uinen. He said nothing, but his mouth was wide and his eyes wide.

"Where shall I bear them, lord?" Isilmo asked the Maia of waters.

"To Lorien." Ulmo told the Eagle immediately. "Take them to the Isle of Lórellin. Bring them to Estë."


	13. Lórellin

Isilmo landed near the outskirts of Lorien. His massive wings kicked up some of the dirt and flattened the grass. Elrohir watched in amazement as he lay Míril down so gently from his talons that she didn't stir. She had fallen into a light slumber from an enchantment by Calairien to help her in the journey.

Elrohir slid off Isilmo's back and thanked him.

"Truly you have been a great aid to us, Isilmo," Elrohir bowed. "Thank you."

"So it seems to be with my line. My father Thorondor bore Fingon, and my older brothers Landroval and Gwaihir often aided your folk in the Third Age of the Sun and Moon." Isilmo bowed back to Elrohir. "Till next we meet, descendent of Luthien."

Elrohir went to lift Míril up and she woke. Blinking her eyes, she wondered where she was.

"You are outside the Gardens of Lorien. Lord Irmo and Lady Estë tend to them." Isilmo gestured ahead of them with his beak. "Look! Here comes your escort."

The man was tall, hair silver and skin very pale. His clothes, grey and black, shimmered with every movement. In his hair were black ribbons with onyx stones at each pleat. He strode forward, seeming to float. His movements were very smooth.

Isilmo told them to go to him. Míril and Elrohir did as instructed, walking forward to meet the Maia half way. When they approached him, he spoke. His voice was smooth and deep, very pleasant.

"Greetings. My Lords are expecting you. I am Artuilion, Maia of Estë and Irmo." He gave a brief nod to them in hello. "Come. Follow me. Healing and rest await you."

Míril took her husband's hand. Together, she and Elrohir walked behind Artuilion into the Willow forest. The first thing they noticed was the quiet. There were no bugs, no birds. All they heard was water dripping, or the occasional small stream. As they drew closer to their destination, large pools of crystal clear water began to crop up. Connected by tiny yet flowing streams, small wooden bridges allowed for crossing.

A slight mist, or haze, lay in the forest as they moved onward. Night was fast approaching, and the small, dim silver lamps were the only source of light besides the moon and stars. Ever onward Artuilion led them. Onwards and inwards. For the first time they heard bird song, with the occasional hoot of a hidden owl. The weeping willow trees beside and around each pool likely hid these animals.

Finally they approached the largest pool yet. Less a pool and more a lake, they saw an island in the center. Thirty five willow trees stood around it's edges, and one small silver-barked Mallorn tree stood in the center.

Artuilion steered them towards a small dock where a raft floated. "Come, we go to the Isle of Lórellin."

They boarded the raft and watched Artuilion slowly and rhythmically push the raft with a pole to take them across the water. After about five minutes, they arrived at the island. Waiting for them were three figures. The first was a woman clad entirely in grey, with hair silver-toned as well. Her face was kind and her grey eyes cast a gentle glance at the newcomers. Beside her was a tall man, robed in grey and blue, with eyes of a very pale blue. He held a staff of birchwood with a blue crystal atop it.

The third was a woman who stood slightly behind them. She was raven-haired, and grey eyed. She wore a brilliant blue dress. On her shoulder sat a Nightingale. Her resemblance to Arwen was noticeable. This one Elrohir and Míril recognized from their stories and songs. This was Melian, one of the wisest and chief of the Maiar, behind only Ilmarë and Eonwë, and perhaps Olórin.

"Welcome, Elrohir, descendent of Luthien." The grey clad woman's voice smoothly floated to them. "Welcome Míril, descendent of Fëanor. I am Estë, and this is my husband Irmo."

Míril and Elrohir both bowed deeply to them. Míril noted as she stood straight again, and her gaze fell upon Melian briefly, that the Maia was all eyes for Elrohir. Míril remembered that Elrohir was her progeny.

"Thank you my Ladies, my Lord," Elrohir inclined his head.

Irmo flashed a small smile. "Elrohir, why do you not go for a stroll with Melian. Estë must care for your wife."

Melian perked up immediately. She held out a hand to Elrohir and he took it after planting a kiss on his wife's forehead. Together, he and Melian strode among the willows to the other side of the Isle of Lórellin.

"Elrohir," Melian smiled. "It is a wondrous pleasure to meet you at last. Your mother speaks often of you."

Elrohir's face lit up. "When do you speak to Celebrían?"

Melian gave a musical laugh. "Often, dearest child. Especially since your sister made the choice my own daughter made."

Elrohir halted in his step. He felt tears coming to his eyes. Arwen, his baby sister. Images of her childhood flashed before his eyes. Images of her growth into the most beautiful of elves of the Third Age. Images of her lovely wedding.

Placing a hand on his arm, Melian spoke with a firm yet still gentle tone. "You are in need of healing also, do not forget that. You will be tended to as well once Míril is settled."

Elrohir felt his tears begin to flow on his cheeks. Between the loss of his sister and three of his children, and the betrayal and death of his youngest, he felt overwhelmed beyond the point of sanity.

Melian drew him into a hug while she touched a tree branch with her right hand. Where she touched, a white blossom grew. She picked it. Drawing back, Elrohir looked at it in wonder.

"This is a dream flower. I often tend to them here in Lorien as they grow upon the willows." Melian handed it to him, placing it delicately into his outstretched palms. "May it be a sign, a promise to you, that you _will_ find healing."

Elrohir examined the gentle blossom. A promise of healing. He truly believed she meant it.


	14. Lament by Moonlight

Míril woke to gentle singing and the sound of small waves. She gradually came to consciousness, first not able to do anything. Then she wriggled her toes, and flexed her fingers. She opened her mouth to take a deep breath, eyes still closed.

" _...Through Evernight he back was borne_  
on black and roaring waves that ran  
o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores  
that drowned before the Days began..."

 _Maglor_. She instantly recognized his voice. No other song had such power as one of his. But... she recognized the lyrics as Bilbo's.

 _"_ _...until he heard on strands of pearl_  
where ends the world the music long,  
where ever-foaming billows roll  
the yellow gold and jewels wan."

Slowly she opened her eyes and sighed. Maglor's voice stopped. She couldn't see him, yet she knew he was close. But… where was her husband?

"Elrohir," she murmured like one drunk on wine, trying to sit up but failing and becoming all the more distressed.

"Quiet, child," came a low, smooth voice. She recalled it belonged to Artuilion as he soon stooped into view, kneeling beside her. "Lie still. He is being tended to by others here."

Míril lay back down and drifted back off to sleep as Artuilion wiped her brow with cool, refreshing waters from Estë's pools. The silver-haired Maia laid a hand on her chest and continued to strive with the darkness in her mind. For in their tendings to Míril, Estë had found traces of the Nazgûl's blackness deep within her that had never left. It was possible this contributed to her trauma.

The next time she woke, her head was much clearer. It was night once more, and she dared open her eyes, hearing quiet talking to her right. Míril turned her head slowly and found herself watching Fingon and Maglor together. Maglor held his miniature harp, though now it leaned against his leg, not in use. Maglor's back was to a Willow tree, while Fingon reclined on his side.

Miril opened her mouth slowly and murmured, "What time is it?"

Both elves stopped their quiet talking and turned to her. Fingon looked slightly concerned, while Maglor flashed a small smile her way.

"The night is half spent," said the minstrel softly, "and you have been here three days now."

"Three days?" She sat up in concern immediately, rubbing her eyes. "How has it been that long? I do not remember even falling asleep."

"Such is the beauty of Lorien," Fingon smiled to her. "The hurts of Arda Marred are far away here, and one gets unnatural, though certainly not unpleasant, rest."

"And my husband? Where is he?" She looked around for him quickly.

"He is receiving his own healing, on the other side of the island. He refused to been seen to until two days ago, when Lady Melian dragged him to Estë." Maglor chuckled. "He truly loves you, you know that."

Míril smiled to herself. Oh, she knew alright. "I do remember one thing," she murmured suddenly, after several moments of silent contemplation. "Maglor, I heard you sing a song of Bilbo's."

"Oh did you now?" He gave a small laugh. "Indeed, I am caught. I was indeed singing his Song of Eärendil."

"How did you learn it?" She eagerly sat cross legged, facing the two elves.

Maglor and Fingon exchanged glances.

Maglor spoke again. "We haven't told you yet, for fear it would trigger your trauma. But the hobbits are here, Frodo and Bilbo, the ring bearers."

"Really?" She was surprised. "Where?"

"Frodo comes often here, to Lórellin. But now the two live on Tol Eressëa, near the water." He replied softly. "They are interesting folk, and Bilbo a wonderful minstrel."

"I should like to visit them," she mumbled to herself. Then she looked at Maglor. "But first, I should like a song. One of yours this time!"

Fingon grinned and patted Maglor's knee from where he lay on his side beside him. "Yes. Do as the maiden says!"

Maglor rolled his eyes at Fingon before nodding to Míril. "Very well. How about the Lamemt of Findekáno?"

Fingon blushed suddenly and lay back so his face was hidden. He muttered something that Míril couldn't quite catch. She, on the other hand, nodded eagerly. Maglor, picking up his harp, began to play and sing in a slow, steady voice.

" _Of old they called him valiant,_  
An elf steadfast as adamant.  
His favorite place to walk and play  
Was on Ezellohar every day.  
Until at last when it went dark  
He left Aman to seek lands stark.

" _In those far lands beyond the ice_  
He found his cousin, calling thrice.  
A streak of red,  
A distant head,  
Russandol freed with hand as price.

" _Upon the death of father bold,_  
King he was, with ribbons gold.  
No power, glory sought his own,  
But to power, glory he was prone.  
Then one day the call did come.  
He rode to battle with Elvendom.

" _At battle tears ran like a flood,_  
And so too did elven blood,  
Too many foes,  
They ripped his clothes.  
They smashed his body to the mud.

" _But still a cry went up that day_  
A cry for men and elves to stay  
Aura entuluva!  
Aura entuluva!  
For though the great king passed away,  
His spirit went on to lead the way."

Míril was mesmerized the entire time. In her mind, great images of Fingon, the Valiant High King of the Noldor flashed before her eyes. She realized now that the golden ribbons he always wore were a sign to all of who he was, and not just a fashion choice. He was Findekáno, eldest son of Fingolfin and Anairë. He was the unifier of the Noldorin houses. A hero among all the greats.

Fingon himself was quiet for several moments after the song. But finally he spoke, softly and with tears in his eyes. "You do me great honor, my friend."

"No greater honor than you did for us all those years." Maglor laid his harp down and placed a hand on Fingon's arm. "Without you, our quest would've failed before it had even begun."

Míril watched quietly the solemn moment between the two elves. She realized in that moment just how much these cousins meant to each other. The friendship of Fingon and Maedhros was one oft told of, but with the red head still in the Halls, Fingon and Maglor had grown even closer.


	15. The Great Hunter

Míril had soon fallen back asleep thanks to the medicinal concoctions and mystical atmosphere of the isle of Lórellin. When she awoke many hours later, she found Fingon and Maglor joined by Elladan and Elrohir. Her husband sat by her head and she felt him running his fingers through her brown hair.

 

“Elrohir,” Míril smiled widely and spoke softly, grabbing his hand. She sat up but lay back into him.

 

He looked hopefully at her. “Have you found healing, my love?”

 

“Indeed. My side no longer stings with old pain.” She nodded quietly. “I have also been given strength when I think about Tinneth.”

 

“Truly this is joyous news indeed,” Elladan grinned. “For though I have enjoyed the healing I've received here today, I am ready to journey elsewhere.”

 

Fingon and Maglor looked at each other carefully and Maglor gave a tiny nod. He turned to the three half elves.

 

“We have a proposal to make.” He lowered his voice. “Lady Vairë has learned of the interest you have in the heroes of old. She would like to speak with you about perhaps learning more about them in Mandos.”

 

“But first,” Fingon added. “There is the matter of your tendency towards… uh… vengeance.”

 

Míril shuffled her feet where she sat, fiddling with a bracelet she wore. She did not argue with them.

 

“We think it would be beneficial to you, Míril,” Maglor continued. “As well as the two of you.” He gestured to Elladan and Elrohir. “Beneficial for you to visit Lady Nienna's Halls. For she can teach you three much in pity and endurance through grief. And if she finds you all worthy… well…” He trailed off conspicuously.

 

As they all agreed to visit her halls, Míril looked up and watched as Melian approached. Her blue dress and dark hair reminded her of Arwen once again. 

 

“May I join you?” Her voice was smooth and kindly.

 

Maglor nodded deeply as he and Fingon moved to make space for the Maia. “Of course, my Lady.” 

 

“Long has it been since you visited us, Maglor.” She looked sadly at him. “I heard you talking of Lady Nienna. I learned much from her upon my return to Valinor after the of deaths of my husband and child.”

 

Maglor’s eyes welled up with tears as he lowered his head and looked away. He remembered the second Kinslaying, though this was not of what she spoke. Whenever Doriath came up, he felt sick. It was something he had learned to live with, finding little rest in Lorien because of Melian’s presence. 

 

The Maia sat down. “I visit my husband in the Halls. There are ways in with Vairë's assistance. And Mandos is busy every Tuesday.” She had a twinkle in her eye as she spoke. “If you receive the assistance of Nienna and Vairë, if you are in their favor and they will that you be allowed to visit, then Námo best not say no.”

 

“So are there, like, visiting hours?” Míril asked in confusion.

 

Melian chuckled and gave her a wink. “Only if you make them.”

 

“Then we shall have to!” Míril smiled at her friends. “I am loathe to leave this place, but we must visit Lady Nienna.”

 

Elrohir agreed. “How far is it?”

 

Melian shook her head. “Not far. But a day’s ride East. To the very edge of Valinor you must go, the House of Nienna looks out upon the Walls of the World and the sea of Ekkaia.”

 

Elladan was intrigued. “What do the Walls look like, my lady?”

 

“Well.” she smirked. “You must see for yourselves!”

 

Fingon and Maglor stood before helping Lady Melian up as well. Indeed, Míril and the twins were truly sad to be leaving the Isle of Lórellin, but visiting the House of Nienna sounded more important than lingering in this place much longer.

 

“Do not worry, my friends,” Melian smiled kindly. “For you shall return here. This I am sure of.”

 

Across the lake they went, bidding farewell to Melian as they did so. Fingon led the way, taking them by boat to the far shore. They were close to the edge of the forest some hours later when a great horn sounded. Fingon and Maglor perked up immediately at the sound. Míril covered her ears and cowered back, alongside her husband and his brother.

 

Yelping and baying of hounds was the next noise, followed quickly by a sound of many hooves pounding the earth. As they exited the trees, the sounds stopped. Everything was eerily still. Before their eyes they found the source of the noise.

 

A huge stallion, reminiscent in color to Shadowfax, stood before them. Upon its back, a man sat, his brown hair wavy and to his shoulders with a beard thick but short. Around him were many animals especially hounds and horses. A few other men and one woman sat atop steeds.

 

“Greetings, Oromë,” Fingon bowed.

 

The Vala inclined his head in greeting. “Tis always a good day when we meet, Findekáno. And you, Makalaurë.”

 

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Maglor nodded to him quickly.

 

“I bring steeds for you.” He gestured to the riderless horses. “And I wished to meet the three newest inhabitants of Aman. Those who brought light back to us.” Oromë swung himself down from his great horse and strode forward. He wasn't too much taller than the elves, but he was of a bulkier stature.

 

Míril, Elladan, and Elrohir quickly knelt to the Vala. He nodded to them, accepting their praise, and gestured for them to stand.

 

Elladan looked in awe upon Oromë. “My lord, you were ever an inspiration to me upon Middle Earth.”

 

Oromë gave a small smile. “Indeed, Elladan? Your hunt of orcs for many centuries was worthy of song. Manwë oft told me of you and your brother’s quest, and the tapestries woven by Vairë and her handmaidens are decorated with your deeds.”

 

“For this I am honored!” Elladan grinned. “I hope you would someday give me the even greater honor of learning from you and your folk.”

 

Oromë looked pleased. “I would gladly train you further in the hunt.” He turned back to the others. “But for now, I bring you steeds so you may make haste across the plains to the House of Nienna.”

 

Míril was granted a great bay mare, while Elladan and his brother were gifted each white stallions. Fingon and Maedhros rode grey steeds, leading the way.

  
“Farewell, children of fate. May we meet again soon!” Oromë waved at them as they left.


	16. Lady of Tears

Upon their swift steeds, the little company of five galloped across the fields of emerald green grass. Beads of sweat rolled down their horses’ necks. As the day drew to a close, Maglor called a halt.

 

“Look!” He pointed ahead. “The lights there.”

 

Míril shaded her eyes from the sinking sun. She saw no lights other than the flaming flower of the Sun.

 

“Wait until the sun sets,” Fingon suggested. “Their eyesight is not as keen as ours.”

 

With a nodded and a sigh, they picked up the pace once more. Slowly the Sun disappeared behind the horizon line. The stars appeared, like a tapestry woven by Varda herself. At last, the three half elves saw the lights Maglor had spoken of.

 

“Is that where her house is?” Elrohir shouted to them curiously, the wind drowning him out as they galloped.

 

But Fingon nodded to him as they halted once more. “Indeed, my friends. Nienna’s abode is now not far. Let us hurry!”

 

They pushed the horses as fast as they could go. Soon before them there arose a great house. Mansion would've been a better term for it. It’s walls were high, made of light stones and containing many windows. A path of white cobble led to a door carved of a dark wood. The path originated from a road that must've come from somewhere nearby though they knew not what.

 

A hooded, cloaked figure sat on a chair outside the door, smoking a pipe. Swirling shapes rose from the pipe, flying like butterflies into the air. Fingon and Maglor both dismounted and led their horses forward on foot.

 

“She’s been expecting you,” said the hidden man, voice clear and familiar.

 

Elrohir grinned widely as he threw himself down from his horse, soon followed by the other two. “Mithrandir!”

 

“Yes, yes.” He threw back his hood. “My you three  _ have  _ been busy since you arrived in Valinor.”

 

Míril laughed merrily as the Maia smiled at her. “Yes, yes we have.” After a pause, she continued. “You disappeared after our feast in Tirion. Why?”

 

“I had things to do,” Olórin, once called Gandalf, brushed it off. “People to see.”

 

“You're as tight lipped as a Maia as you were as an Istari,” Elladan shook his head with a smile.

 

Olórin huffed. “I take that as a compliment.” He turned to Maglor and Fingon. “Thank you for taking care of them.”

 

“Of course, Olórin,” Fingon bowed deeply. “I assume Lady Nienna is inside?”

 

Olórin stood from his seat, putting out his pipe. “Indeed, indeed. Follow me.”

 

The man clothed in greys and blues led them inside the mansion. Upon entering there was a short hallway, wide enough for five to walk abreast. It emptied into a large, circular room with an enormous window for the far, western wall. Great lamps of arcane fires lit the room with a golden hue. Upon the slate tiled floors was a rug of white and silver and black. Míril wandered in awe up to the window. For it overlooked a small cliff into the sea; it was the edge of Valinor. 

 

“Through great pain and sorrow have you come here, children,” came a soft, quiet voice behind them. “And deep regrets hang like clouds over you.”

 

They spun around to find the speaker. It was a woman, about as tall as Maglor. She wore a black dress with a silver pendent on her breast. Her hair, a translucent silver which looked black when not in the light, fell about her shoulders in loose waves.

 

“My lady,” Olórin bowed. “May I present Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond, and Míril, called Fëanoriel.”

 

The woman slowly walked towards them. It seemed to them that each time her eyes fell upon them, tears formed in her own. She gazed right into their souls. Míril felt naked before her.

 

“It is good you have come here,” Nienna nodded slowly as she circled them. “For you have much anger and resentment in your hearts.” At last she turned from them. “Fingon, Maglor. Vairë has requested you visit her in the Halls.”

 

They knew this was a dismissal if ever there was one. With quick bows, they left without even bidding the half elves goodbye. Soon enough Míril, Elladan, and Elrohir were left alone with Olórin and Nienna.

 

“I will start with Míril.” Nienna turned to Olórin and he gestured for the twins to follow him out of the room. Now it was just the two women.

 

“My lady,” Míril bowed in awe. “It is an honor to meet you.”

 

Nienna nodded solemnly. “I fear too few come here sharing your view. If more did, there might be less hardship in Arda Marred.”

 

“I am sorry my lady,” Míril sniffled. “For I am afraid I have done much of that myself.”

 

With a nod, Nienna took her hands. It was a warm feeling, and Míril felt herself calmed, not as frightened.

 

“Do not fear. For I am not angry with you, child.” Nienna downcast her eyes. “I merely weep for the world.”

 

Míril nodded at her and looked back out the window. Varda’s stars were bright here, as with most places in Valinor. She found comfort in them. She loved the stars.

 

“Míril Fëanoriel.” Nienna stood beside her and looked out the window as well. “Do you have hatred in your heart?”

 

“No!” Míril paused. “Perhaps.”

 

Nienna almost cracked a smile before becoming her usual somber self. “Child I do sense it in you. You harbor hatred for the one called Halion Carnimendo.”

 

At that name, Míril tensed. She felt her hands clench and her face turn red.

 

“There,” Nienna sighed. “There it is.”

 

“You are right, my lady,” Miril sighed, angry tears dripping down her face. “He wronged me much.”

 

Walking forward, Nienna stood right behind the glass. She looked out at the Walls of the World. They were huge walls of falling water, beyond which no one could go. Beyond them, the Void lay. Behind the Doors of Night. With a sigh, she turned back to Míril.

 

“Indeed he did,” she agreed sadly. “But harboring hatred will only harm you. He has passed beyond your reach, child.”

 

Míril bowed her head and felt tears flowing. “I do not know how, my lady. All my life I have held hatred. Hatred for the wargs, hatred for the orcs, hatred for the Haradrim. Now I bear hatred for this man of Angmar.”

  
Nienna nodded. “I shall help you.”


	17. On the Road Again

“My Lady, do you ever weep for Morgoth?” Míril asked an hour later, as she and Nienna sat upon two chairs in the large entry room.

 

Nienna sighed. “Indeed, child. For I knew him before his fall. He was not created evil. He was created good, but chose evil.”

 

“Much would have been different had he chosen good,” Míril sighed to herself as she watched the waters of the Sea of Ekkaia.

 

“Yes.” Nienna nodded. “All that was marred would still be fair.”

 

Míril thought about the fading of the the Elves, about the deaths of her father and brother. She thought of the orcs, once proud Avari, twisted into a sick and hateful race. She thought of the dead trees of Valmar.

 

She turned back to Nienna, looking deep into her blue-grey eyes. “How do you not hate him for it?”

 

“I have let go.” Nienna held out her hand. “I let go as I have taught you, and will continue to teach you. But come, Olórin approaches. For it is time I speak to your husband and his brother.”

 

Míril stood and bowed to her. She watched as Elladan and Elrohir walked slowly into the room. Olórin gestured for her to follow. She did so.

 

Elrohir wandered to the window and looked out at the Sea of Ekkaia. He could just make out the Walls of the World far away, across miles of sea. He hoped to someday take a boat and see the Walls.

 

“Beautiful,” Nienna nodded, walking over to him and his brother. “Eru had us place the Walls there through Ulmo and Aulë.”

 

“It's as if the world cries, creating the Sea,” Elladan murmured quietly.

 

Nienna said nothing, but a tiny smile played on her lips. The irony of his statement did not escape her. After all, she was the one known for her tears. Her bare feet made no noise on the stone floor as she walked over to her chairs.

 

“You two are known for your hatred of Morgoth’s spawn, even here in Valinor.” She began to address them. “While I do not deny this was useful in Middle Earth, here in Aman it may serve you well to rid yourselves of that burden.”

 

Elrohir nodded, looking from the sea to the Vala. “I think… perhaps I am ready, my Lady. The latter part of my life was spent in anger, hating all that Sauron created. I do not wish to live with that any longer.”

 

Nienna reached out her hand and he drew close to her. As soon as he touched her palm, he felt a great weight lift from his mind. In its place, a golden warmth formed. He closed his eyes as it wrapped itself around him. He felt even more alive than he ever had before. He felt the happiness that had departed him when Celebrían was assaulted. He knew once more the joys like unto childhood.

 

“Elladan?” Nienna looked at the other twin fondly as Elrohir caught his breath. “I sense in you great turmoil.”

 

“I do indeed wish to be relieved of my hatred.” He sighed. “But I do not wish to give up the hunt. I wish to learn from Lord Oromë.”

 

“There is more to the Hunt than anger,” Nienna assured him. “Learn from Oromë. Come to me whenever you feel your hatred of the enemy wearing down on you.”

 

Elladan nodded and bowed. “Truly your wisdom knows no bounds. I will gladly return to learn from you.”

 

The brothers sat there and learned much for about an hour. Nienna taught them of a time before Arda Marred, a time when things were good. Meanwhile, Míril was outside with Olórin. They sat on a bench watching the Sea of Ekkaia stretch out before them. The sun was beginning to rise behind them, casting great shadows before them.

 

“Mithrandir,” Míril began, “Lady Melian spoke to me of the possibility of meeting the Heroes of Old. She said Vairë and Nienna could get me inside the Halls.”

 

Olórin let a smile play on his lips. “Did she now? She would know.”

 

“What do you mean?” Míril looked at him in surprise.

 

“Well, she goes to visit her husband on Tuesdays.” Olórin explained carefully. “Everyone knows, but no one talks about it.”

 

Míril shrugged. “So there's a chance.”

 

“If the Ladies Nienna and Vairë agree, Lord Námo will do nothing.” Olórin stood. “But come. The sun is rising. It is time you three set off.”

 

As he walked away, Míril bounded up to him. “Set off? Set off to where?!”

 

“To Mandos of course.” He rolled his eyes. “My you are slow. It's a wonder you ever got the Silmaril.”

 

Míril glared and stopped walking. But when Olórin didn't stop, she ran to catch up. Inside they found Elladan and Elrohir thanking Nienna for her help. Míril did the same.

 

“Return whenever you need counsel,” Nienna said to them, her translucent hair bright silver-gold in the sunlight. “You have my blessing to enter the Halls.”

 

As they bid farewell, Olórin walked them out. “This road will take you straight to the Halls. You should reach there by midday. Tell the doorwarden who you are and they should let you in to meet Lady Vairë.”

 

“When will we see you again, Mithrandir?” Míril asked sadly.

 

“Get going. We will see each other again.” Olórin smirked. “Whenever it is time.”

 

They heaved themselves up onto their great horses of Oromë. The steeds were like unto the Mearas of Rohan. Both swift and strong, fleet of foot and fierce. They took off down the road. Mandos was their destination.

 

All stories Míril had heard of Mandos were filled with mystery, like unto the Vala himself. The only thing she knew for certain was that the great tapestries seen around the other Valar’s abodes were all woven by Vairë and her Handmaidens in the Halls. Oh, and that Mandos was busy on Tuesdays.

 

As the day wore on, and the road continued, they found themselves looking at a small gatehouse. Speeding to a halt, Míril realized it was bigger than a simple gatehouse, for behind it stretched a large building.

  
_ The Halls of Mandos!  _ She almost said it aloud, but was too tired to do so after staying up all night and riding half the day.


	18. The Weaver

When they rode up to the gatehouse, a tall Noldorin elf stood at attention. His armor was a charcoal grey, with white designs. She had never seen this kind of armor before, but she assumed it to be special for the Door Wardens of Mandos.

Elrohir, Elladan, and Míril dismounted their horses. A small stable was nearby with a woman caring for two other horses.

"Those are Maglor and Fingon's horses," Elladan pointed out as the walked their horses over. "I am glad they are here."

"Welcome," waved the woman at the stables. "I am Wilwarindë, Maia of Nessa, tender of these stables." They noticed a large butterfly clip in her golden hair and many on her dress.

"My lady!" Elladan bowed to her. "We did not know!"

She laughed, and her laugh was beautiful. Míril couldn't help but smile along with her. "Butterfly is a suiting name for you."

Wilwarindë smiled even wider. "Thank you. You three must be the Lady Míril, and the Lords Elladan and Elrohir. A messenger told me to expect you."

"May we leave these horses with you then?" Elrohir handed the Maia his lead rope. "For they are not ours, but Lord Oromë's."

"Of course." Wilwarindë took the three lead ropes. "Head on inside the Halls. The Lady Vairë is expecting you."

The three bowed and left the woman to care for the great horses. Míril's heart was pounding as she walked towards the Door Warden, sweat building up on her brow. This was _Mandos_! The Halls of Awaiting.

"Halt," spoke the Noldo. "Who comes here seeking entry?"

"We are Elrohir and Elladan, and Míril Fëanoriel. We come with Lady Nienna's blessing," Elrohir bowed. "Please, allow us entry."

"Ah," the Noldo nodded, looking deep into their eyes. "It is you then. Head inside, but be careful to not step out of line."

The Door Warden knocked three times on the large stone door. Slowly it heaved itself open, allowing them to enter. They were surprised to find the ceilings immeasurably high. For on the outside it had not seemed this large.

"By Elbereth," breathed Elrohir, glancing around as he and Míril went forward. "It is enormous!"

Elladan followed them in. Together the three half elves walked forward, the massive hall extending to either side for at least a hundred feet. The entire Hall was made of grey stone, with windows spread throughout. Noldor and Vanyar, wearing the same armor as the Door Warden, stood at attention by each support column. At the very far end of the Hall was a massive gate that had two tall figures, definitely Maiar, guarding it.

As they wandered forward, a woman stood before them. She had on her face a tiny smile, one filled with pain but also joy. Her hair, dark silver, was different from other Teleri. For indeed, she was not of the Sea Elves. She was a Noldo.

"Welcome to the Halls of Mandos," the woman nodded. "The Lady Vairë is looking forward to meeting you."

Míril cocked her head. For to her surprise, she found that the woman's face resembled her own in some ways. Elrohir and Elladan saw it too.

"Who are you, Lady?" Elrohir asked the question they all wanted to know.

The woman flashed the small smile once more, filled with pain and anguish, but also happiness and love. "I am Míriel Serindë, mother of Fëanor."

Míril looked at the Noldorin woman once more, this time in understanding and curiosity. She understood now the pain on the maiden's face, the pain she must've felt.

"But come," Míriel shook her head. "No time for questions. The Lady is waiting for you."

Míril was still stunned by the news that this was her foremother. She had not known Míriel had been reembodied, but here she was, walking around like she hadn't given up her life willingly, perhaps a catalyst to the downfall of Fëanor.

"Where are we going?" Elladan asked quickly as they went left towards a large gate.

Míriel spoke as she walked. "To the Hall of Weaving. Vairë will be there."

As they passed under the great gate, Elrohir and Elladan went in front of Míril, staying close to Míriel. But Míril lagged behind, looking at the architecture and tapestries. For the entire Main Hall was decorated by tapestry after tapestry, depicting times before time, and the many ages of Arda. Some she recognized as tapestries of the Third Age, but most were unknown to her.

"Come, Míril. You will have time to explore later," Míriel smiled a genuine smile at her, taking her hand. "Vairë is waiting."

Míril nodded and began following again. They entered the next great hall.

"This is the Hall of Weaving. Where you were was the Hall of Stories." Míriel gestured to the great looms and workspaces around them. "We, the Weavers of Vairë, tend to our work here."

"What _is_ your work, Lady Míriel?" Elrohir asked this as they passed another Weaver working.

"I weave all the tapestries pertaining to the House of Finwë." She turned to them fondly. "I have watched you three for many years now."

They marveled at this answer as the walked under a smaller gateway. As they walked into this new, much smaller room, they found a tall woman dressed in midnight blues and silver trim, her black hair dark as night, yet it glimmered silver in the light as she moved. Her eyes were grey-blue. She smiled at them kindly from where she sat near Maglor and Fingon, who were reclining on a couch.

"Welcome!" Vairë greeted each of them with care and by name, taking their hands in hers. "I am Vairë."

"Lady Vairë, it is an honor," Elrohir said as he bowed deeply before the Weaver.

The others followed his example. Elrohir was ever the most diplomatic of their trio. Míril was the least, obviously overcome in amazement, her mouth still open in shock.

Vairë raised them up. "Stand, friends. I do not desire your homage. Others greater than I might, but not me."

"Lady, why are we here?" Elladan asked. "Is it true that Míril will be allowed to meet the heroes of old?"

"Indeed," Vairë nodded. "And Maglor has a suggestion for your first visit."

Maglor stood and walked up to Míril. He put his healthy hands on her shoulders and she saw his eyes fill with unshed tears. He leant down and whispered one word.

"Russandol."


	19. Russandol

Míril found herself standing behind the Great Gate in the Hall of Tapestries. Vairë had snuck her in a few moments before. It was dark and brooding in the Halls. Corridor after corridor ran side by side, with rooms spaced evenly. It ran on forever, or at least as far to forever as Míril could investigate. She had been given specific directions to her target.

The dark slate floors and grey stone walls were uninviting to say the least, and the iron bar doors were reminiscent of a prison. She supposed this place was indeed like a prison, a place to hold those not yet ready to be placed out in Aman. After all, one became "released" from the halls, just like release from prison.

What surprised her was that every room was shrouded from her sight. Though they were iron bar doors, she could not see through them, as if some kind of mist lingered there. None were visible until she came to her destination.

In the center of the floor, cross-legged and head bowed low, was a man. His red hair was shiny despite the rest of him looking simply… tired. She could not see his face. An overwhelming sense of pity washed over her like a wave. Míril should've hated this elf; he had committed all three kinslayings and stolen a Silmaril.

But as she looked at his hunched over form, she realized this was also the elf who killed himself. This was an elf so overcome by pain he leapt into a fiery chasm to his death. This was Maglor's brother, her distant uncle. Lady Nienna had taught her pity.

"Maedhros," she whispered, kneeling down and placing her hands on the vertical cast iron bars.

He made no movement. She recalled what Maglor had told her and decided it time to try. Reaching into her sack, she pulled out the lyre Maglor had gifted to her in Middle Earth. Sitting with her side against the door, she began to play.

" _First of seven, once Elven king_  
Weilded sword with left hand swing.  
His hair as brilliant as scarlet fire.  
He led his folk when times were dire.  
But knowing when to step away,  
He gave the crown to uncle fey."

Míril saw Maedhros' fingers twitch.

" _Befriended cousin when all in doubt_  
That friendship between these kin could sprout.  
Of Findekáno he did think  
Beside the shores as ships did sink.  
But no hope he felt for his long lost friend  
Fearing Fingon would meet his end  
In the Helcaraxë icy cold  
Yet he knew his kin were rightly bold."

Maedhros raised his head slightly, cocking it to the side as he listened. Still she could not see his eyes.

" _He took his place as elven king_  
Though his father's death did sting.  
Yet not long after, orcs played a game.  
Stole him away, and none there came  
To save their king upon the mount  
Save cousin Fingon, who did not discount  
Their friendship of long times past  
And there he was rescued then at last."

Maedhros raised his face and looked at last upon Míril. A question was in his eyes. Míril continued.

" _Upon return he bowed his head_  
To the half brother his father wanted dead  
Recognizing at then last  
The folly of their oathsworn task  
Yet even brothers here did scorn  
But Maedhros stood there, tall and worn."

Maedhros began to scoot towards her, not believing she was real. Still, Míril sang.

" _Through many years, he lived his life._  
Beneath the trees, beneath their light.  
But also here upon Middle Earth,  
He found his mettle, he found his worth.  
Yet still the oath drove him ever onward  
And at last he grabbed the jewel so honored.  
Burning his only remaining hand,  
He saw no action, no other plan,  
Than to leap into the fire  
Where a last he died in flaming pyre."

Maedhros leaned against the iron bars. His head would've been over a foot above hers had he not slumped so far in exhaustion. Míril finished her playing and placed a hand on the bar closest to her.

"You have a wonderful voice," Maedhros managed to croak out. "Though I do wonder, my lady, how you come by my brother's harp. Makalaurë never parted from it long. Especially to a spirit such as you."

"Thank you, my lord." She smiled at him sadly. "Though I am no spirit."

"That is my mind speaking." He gave a short, humorless laugh.

Míril had an idea. "Place your hand on the bar."

With his right hand, a hand which had been restored, he slowly and skeptically placed it in the iron door's bars. Míril grabbed his pale hand slowly, and found it cold.

But the change in Maedhros was instantaneous. "By what great honor has Lord Mandos decided to let you in?"

"He doesn't know," admitted Míril.

Maedhros laughed. "Of course he knows. He knows all. It must've been appointed that you should be here by Iluvatar, or Manwë."

"Lady Vairë and Míriel showed me in," Míril continued.

"And who," Maedhros asked, raising his eyes to meet her own, "are you?"

Míril paused to take a deep breath before continue. "My name is Míril, I am the descendent of your brother Caranthir."

"Míril Fëanoriel?" He looked at her in surprise. "That name is known to me. The handmaids of Vairë often tell me tales of your exploits on their visits."

"Really?" Her face lit up in surprise. "I am honored that you know my name."

Maedhros chuckled before something in his head made him stop. "And I am honored that you would take the time to speak to a kinslayer such as myself."

"You speak to the Handmaidens, then?" Míril asked curiously, changing the subject quickly. "They visit?"

Maedhros smiled, nodding vigorously. "Yes, they do! I met Míriel once, you know. My grandmother."

Míril smiled and ducked her head laughing lightly. "I just met her myself. She's nice."

"A rare trait for the Fëanorian family," Maedhros said ruefully. "Most would say at least."

"I think not," she shook her head. "This family, our family, may be renowned for its vengefulness," she sighed. "myself included. However I think this is not all we are about."

Maedhros, still sitting against the bars, smiled and shook his head as he thought about her comment. "Who would've thought a descendent of Fëanor would've ended up marrying the son of Elrond. I wouldn't have imagined it had you given me ages to think about it!"

"You did a wonderful job with Maglor," Míril chuckled lightly, laying her hand on his own. "Raising Elrond and Elros. Elrond's sons are perfect. Elrohir most especially."

Maedhros laughed merrily. "Why thank you!"

"I have four children, too. Aderthon, my eldest and only son, wields my sword now." She smiled softly, thinking of them. "My middle daughters, twins, have hair like your own. Círeth and Fëalas." She paused. "Then my youngest…"

"No need to speak of her if you do not wish it," Maedhros assured her, a dark look on his face shrouding his joy. "I know what happened to her. She was too alike to us."

Míril remained silent, staring at the floor. "Yes. But she is still my daughter." She closed her eyes and whispered. "Tinneth, I love you, wherever you are."

Maedhros, seeing the pain in her face, was reminded of his mother's own when he left Valinor. She had stood, at the top of the hill, watching in anguish as they swore their oaths.

"Mother's never stop loving their children," Maedhros reminded her. "I wish mothers realized that though we children stray, we never lose that love either, deep in our hearts."

Míril felt tears in her eyes, but there was no excruciating pain. She thanked Estë for that. She looked at Maedhros and he took her hand. After a moment, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Vairë stood behind her. It was time to leave.

"Let my mother know that I love her, and please," he frowned. "Visit soon."

"Of course," Míril nodded furiously. "I will come often."

"It is time," Vairë smiled lightly. "Farewell, Nelyafinwë."

"Thank you, my lady." Maedhros looked up at the Valie in appreciation. "This was a gift I am not deserving of."

Vairë smiled lightly and bent down as Míril collected herself in the corner. The Valie reached forward and took his hand. "Despite what some say, you are hardly the worst elf to live in my husband's halls. Take heart."

As she stood back up, she nodded her head at him and he stood to bow. Miril watched in awe as his full height was revealed. Tall even among elves, Maedhros toward above her, all but even with Vairë.

"Farewell, Míril Fëanoriel."

She sniffled. "Farewell, Maedhros."


	20. Finwë's Legacy

Míril was quiet as she walked with Vairë through the Hall of Tapestries. Her mind raced with questions. The truths Nienna had placed in her mind, the truths of pity and love, now caused her to realize that good and bad were not cut and dry as she'd previously believed. Kinslayers did evil deeds, but in their hearts, now many thousands of years later, they felt repentance. Maedhros did at least, she instantly had picked up on that.

"My lady, when will he be released?" Míril asked Vairë as they walked next to the wall. "He is sorry for his deeds."

Vairë sighed. "I do not know, my child. And though he is sorry, and many like Maglor beg for his release… it does not erase the wrongs he committed."

"But Maglor was a kinslayer," Míril pointed out. "He took the selfsame oath."

Vairë nodded. "Truly you speak. But there were many who saw his rejection of the oath proof of his repentance, and dying to make sure the Silmaril returned here gained him many friends among the powerful."

Míril nodded. She supposed that made sense. Still she did not like it, and this surprised herself. Nienna had worked wonders in her heart. She knew no hate any more. Not even for Halion.

Through the Hall of Weaving they went, past the many weavers of Vairë busy at their stations. She caught sight of Maglor, busy staring out a window on the left wall. Elladan and Elrohir were seated on the floor, listening as Míriel told them stories of her weavings. Fingon was leaning against the wall, watching his friend intently as the other elf stared out the window. Vairë smiled at her as they entered.

"Perhaps you would like to show them the tapestries, Míriel?" Vairë gestured to the half elves. "After all, they are in them."

"A wonderful idea." Míriel smiled at them warmly. "Come, let us walk."

Fingon, Elladan, and Elrohir immediately followed her, but Míril paused a moment. She turned to Vairë and spoke. "May I speak to Maglor, my lady?"

Vairë agreed and followed Míriel and the twins out, leaving Maglor and Míril alone in the small room. Míril went up to him as he looked out the window, placing her hand on his arm.

"How is he?" Maglor asked, choking up.

Míril sighed. "His heart aches. He wished me to tell Nerdanel that he is sorry, for everything."

The elf wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He turned away from her. He gave a short, humorless laugh as he tried to get control of himself.

Míril wanted to comfort him, but did not know how. She stood silent, allowing him a moment to recover.

"You know, you were named after my grandmother." Maglor turned to her after another moment. "I spoke to your birth parents."

"Gilrin and Orelon?" Míril was taken aback. "They are here?"

Maglor nodded. "They wish to see you. To meet you again at last. However we all thought it best that you settle in first."

Míril's face contorted. She wasn't sure how she felt. On the one hand, she was ecstatic. At last she could meet the parents she had vague memories of. On the other hand, they weren't her parents. Halbarad was the only one she'd ever known for more than three years of her life.

"Miril, are you alright?" Maglor waved a hand in front of her face. "Come on. The others are getting farther ahead every minute."

She was snapped from her stupor and together they hurried to catch up with the small group. They reached the twins, Vairë, and Míriel just in time, inside the Hall of Stories. Míriel took them to a small door in the Hall of Stories right wall. Overtop it was the Tengwar script for "House of Finwë."

"Come inside." Vairë gestured for them to follow as she opened the door for them.

"This is my personal workspace," Míriel revealed. "My task is to chronicle all the doings of the House of Finwë." She pointed to the left wall. "This one is the Years of the Trees to the First Age."

They looked at the beautiful tapestries on this wall. Fingon's final stand, Fingolfin's duel with Morgoth, the ruling of Finarfin, the rescue of Maedhros were all contained there. The War of Wrath and all the deeds done therein by Maglor and Maedhros, the founding of Gondolin, the death of Aredhel, the marriage of Celeborn to Galadriel. But even farther back, there was the creation of the Silmarils by Fëanor, the gift of Huan to Celegorm, Maglor's songs of power, Curufin's creations.

Míriel allowed them to marvel at the wall before taking them across to the far right. "This is for the Second Age."

At the forefront was the creation of the Rings of Power by Celebrimbor, son of Curufin. Then came others: the sack of Eregion, along with London's Creation by Gil-Galad, son of Orodreth. Elros' founding of Numenor, and Elrond's service to Gil-Galad. The Wandering of Maglor, Galadriel's founding of Lothlorien, and crowning of Tar-Ancalimë, first ruling Queen of Numenor of the line of Elros. The Establishment of Rivendell by Elrond comes to pass. Then the births of Elendil, Isildur, and Anárion. Everything culminated in the second giant piece: the War of the Last Alliance, with the deaths of Gil-Galad and Elendil.

At last she took them to the far wall, cut in which was a door. But around the small door were many tapestries. "The Third Age," she told them.

There were once more many: The wedding of Elrond and Celebrían, the births of Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen. The capture and rescue and leaving of Celebrían from Middle Earth. The Hunt for the servants of Sauron begins, conducted by the Twins. The birth of Aragorn, and the death of Arathorn. Aragorn as Thorongil. The exploits of all the Dunédain chiefs. The adoption of the remaining 'Exiled' descendants of Fëanor by Halbarad, and the death of Eldir. The childhood of Míril in Rivendell, the meeting of her and Elrohir. Her training as a ranger. Aragorn's friendship with Elrond and his sons. The betrothal of Arwen and Aragorn. Many tapestries devoted to the War of the Ring. The marriages of Míril and Elrohir, and Arwen and Aragorn, including Arwen's choice of mortality, and Míril's choice of immortality. Finally, the Reclamation of the Silmaril and the journey to Harad by Elladan, Elrohir, Maglor, and Miril, including the death of Maglor and the sending West of the jewel.

"This is incredible," Míril breathed in the air as though it was precious. "Look at this work!"

Elladan and Elrohir heartily agreed, walking around and eying each tapestry carefully.

"There is one more," Vairë revealed with a smile. "Come."

They went through the small door in the wall for the Third Age. A whole new room of tapestries was forming, though tapestries only adorned about a quarter of one wall.

"This is the Fourth Age." Míriel smiled proudly.

First was the births of Eldarion and Aderthon. Aderthon's birth was surrounded with every famous heraldic device he was related to: Fëanor, Fingolfin, Finarfin, Ingwë, Finwë, Olwë, Thingol, Haleth, Bëor, and Hador. Under his name was the translation: Reuniter. Eldarion's was almost as impressive, with images of Luthien and Beren and Aragorn and Arwen surrounding him.

Next were the births of the daughters: Amdirien, Estelwen, and Sídhil for Aragorn, and Círeth, Fëalas, and Tinneth for Elrohir. The wildness of Tinneth was featured in a few small tapestries. The peace making with Harad by Míril and her husband, diplomats in the early Fourth Age. Then, finally, the Second Fellowship and their journey North. This included the betrayal of Tinneth, her betrothal to Halion, and her training of the Angmarins. Other, more heroic panels there were too. Tapestries of Eldarion and Aderthon's leadership skills, the hunting prowess of the twin sisters, and finally, the battle. Each man or woman had a panel, but the death of Tinneth by Aderthon's hand was at the forefront, alongside the death of Estelwen, daughter of Aragorn. The final tapestry was the sailing of Elladan, Elrohir, and Míril to the Undying Lands, and the return of Aragorn to Minas Tirith.

Maglor smiled. "I came often to see these," he said. "Míriel, you do amazing work."

"As do I," Fingon added quickly. "It allows me to remember."

"Thank you." She bowed her head with a small smile.

Vairë brought them back to the Hall of Stories soon after this, explaining that Isilmo was waiting for them outside the Halls.

"It seems as though you're presence is being requested in Ilmarin." She smiled. "It had been a pleasure." She bowed to them.

"Thank _you_ , my lady!" Míril bowed deeply to the Vala. "May I return?"

Vairë smiled and placed a hand on her cheek, raising her head. "My child, I insist it."

Maglor and Fingon decided to journey with them to Ilmarin. They said something about going to the Theatre.

"Theater?" Elrohir looked skeptically. "Why?"

Fingon looked at him like he was crazy. "My dear Elrohir, if you must ask the question, you have clearly never been to a good play."

And so together they left to find Isilmo out on the plains. Elladan, Elrohir, and Fingon were debating plays while Maglor merely walked beside Míril, both lost in thought. It had been a crazy day, and now that night had come, she wondered just how much crazier it would get.


	21. The Daughters

"Greetings, my Lords and Lady!" The great eagle Isilmo extended his head to them in greeting.

Far above the moon was bright and the stars many. A slight breeze blew Míril's brown hair across her cheek. It was a pleasant night, and she was prepared for the next adventure, eager, even.

"Lady Vairë said something about Ilmarin?" Elladan asked the eagle as they approached him.

Isilmo nodded. "Yes. I was instructed to take you to Ilmarin where Lady Ilmarë is waiting for you." He stretched his wing down so they could climb on. "Up you get."

Within minutes they were off. Soaring above the land was something Míril had come to quite enjoy. She watched as Taniquetil grew closer and closer, and the eagle took them higher and higher. She felt the air across her face getting colder.

She wasn't prepared for the landing. After several circles, Isilmo touched down without warning, jolting the riders.

"Sorry," Isilmo murmured. "I'm not used to bearing so many so often."

"It's nothing," Elrohir assured him, sliding off the eagle's back. "We just appreciate the lift."

The moon was now low in the sky. They found themselves face to face with Carmegil, Glorfindel, and Haldanáro. The three warriors stood side by side. The foremost of the three crossed his arms, annoyed with his silver hair that kept blowing in the wind.

"Welcome back." Glorfindel greeted them first with a smile. "Before we meet with the Lady Ilmarë, we figured you'd like some new clothes."

Míril was so thankful she burst out laughing and nodded. "I am sick of this dress!"

Glorfindel smiled. "Come with me. The rest of you can go with Carmegil and Haldanáro." He gestured for Míril to follow him.

Together the two of them walked side by side. Míril glanced over at the elf occasionally but he said nothing until several minutes had passed.

"Why do you stare, Míril?" He smiled, turning his head to face her. "You have known me almost your entire life."

She shrugged. "I do not know. I guess… I guess it is different now in Valinor. You have such power here."

His laugh was long and merry. "Power? Nay. Lady Ilmarë has power, Finarfin has power. I have respect, but this gets me few privileges in a land filled with heroes."

She nodded and sighed. "I suppose it's just strange to see you not around Elrond or the Twins."

"Do not forget, it has been thousands of years since I was last here. It is… difficult." Glorfindel admitted this slowly as they walked. "Reconnecting with old friends, bowing to a new elven lord. It is disconcerting. But I am doing my best. Carmegil and Haldanáro are assisting me in my transition."

They entered an area with a small house, cottage like. It was still a ways from the center of Ilmarin and down a slope, set apart in a tiny clearing against the rock walls. Míril wondered who it belonged to.

"This is one of the houses of Indis. She likes to live here with her daughters, apart from her people further down the mountain." Glorfindel walked up to the door. "She told me to bring you here."

"Indis? Of the Vanyar?" Míril was stunned and worried. What good could come of meeting the second wife of Finwë? "Her daughters?"

He knocked on the door. When it opened several moments later, Míril found herself face to face with a golden-haired elf maiden, sapphire blue eyes shining. She nodded at Glorfindel with a smile and turned to Míril, still standing in the doorway.

"So you are Míril, called Fëanoriel." She reached out and took Míril's hand. "Welcome to Valinor, young one. I am Indis."

Behind her, Míril glimpsed a woman even more beautiful than Indis. She had golden hair braided in tresses and done up in a brilliant design, more fancy than her mother's. Indis caught her stare.

"This is Findis, my eldest child." Indis smiled. "Come inside, both of you."

Glorfindel smirked at Míril and gestured for her to go first. She rolled her eyes at him and did as she was instructed, stepping up into the small cottage. Once inside she found yet another woman there, though this elf had rich, dark hair of raven black.

"Meet Lalwendë, my younger daughter." Indis smiled warmly at her daughter.

"It is an honor, truly," Míril bowed to them.

"Lalwen please," the dark haired maiden corrected her mother.

Glorfindel and Míril went further in, sitting on a large couch while Findis went to fetch them tea. Lalwen looked with curiosity upon Miril.

"We heard you were in need of a dress," Indis began immediately as she pulled chairs around for herself and her daughters. "We figured we could help!"

Míril brightened. "Indeed, my lady! That would be wonderful!"

"So you are descendent of Fëanor?" Lalwen immediately jumped into the question she had on her heart.

Míril sat up. "Indeed I am."

Lalwen looked at her intently. Several moments passed where no one dared speak, but at last she continued. "We thank you for returning the Silmaril."

Miril let out the breath she had been holding. "Of course."

"The Powers debated breaking it," Lalwen continued. "Hoping to rekindle the Two Trees. But Yavanna counseled against it, for one remains still out of our reach and without all three… no guarantees are there that we wouldn't simply lose the light."

Míril sighed. "Yes, I suppose this is true."

Findis reappeared moments later with not only tea, but a beautiful red dress that seemed about Míril's size. "Here you are."

Indis clapped her hands together. "Oh wonderful. Thank you, Findis."

Glorfindel smiled. "I figured you would have something, Indis."

"Of course, Glorfindel!" She laughed. "You know I keep _all_ the clothes my children have ever worn."

Findis and Lalwen laughed along with her. Míril merely chuckled and took the dress from Findis. Lalwen showed her where she could bathe and change.

"Thank you," Míril nodded to her as she retreated into a guest room.

Slowly she climbed into the shower room and pressed the hand pump. The water that flowed over her head was refreshing after so many days without bathing. The scented soap that sat in the shower calmed her physically as she used it.

When she had dried off, she finally slipped into the dress. It fit nearly perfectly, and she put on her shoes to go out into the common room after wringing out her hair and putting it in a bun.

Findis, Glorfindel, and Indis had all disappeared when she came out into the main room. Only Lalwen sat there, waiting for her.

"Where did everyone else go?" Míril asked in surprise.

"Outside." Lalwen gestured for Míril to sit down. "Come, I must speak with you."

Míril hesitated. Eventually she walked over and sat in a chair across from Lalwen. What did she want?

"Míril Fëanoriel," Lalwen smiled sadly. "I would be lying if I said I was friendly to your namesake." Míril didn't respond so she continued. "I traveled to Middle Earth with my brother Fingolfin."

"Really my lady?" Míril was surprised. "Why were you not recorded in the histories?"

"I never got there." She frowned. "I died in the Helcaraxë, alongside Elenwë my niece."

Míril was shocked. "My lady, I am so sorry."

"I spent many years in the Halls, listening to the tales the Weavers would tell me about the War." She began to pace. "I longed for the days when I was outside in the light of Valinor."

"When did they release you?" Míril asked quietly.

"About a hundred years ago," Lalwen told her. She stopped and looked at Míril. "Tell me, Miril Fëanoriel, why should any son of Fëanor be released when someone like me had to suffer so long? Maglor had been in the Halls for a mere 25 years before they released him!"

Míril was at a loss for words but finally continued. "He helped me retrieve the Silmaril, my lady. He is the reason the jewel is here!"

"But why should they release Maedhros?" She balled her fist. "Why?"

"What?" Míril was stunned. "They are releasing him?"

"No, I make sure of that." she glared. Suddenly her face softened. "Unless you can convince me otherwise."

"Me my lady?" She was surprised yet again.

"You are the only elf to have spoken to him, other than Míriel, since he entered the Halls." Lalwen sent her a pleading look. "Give me a reason why he should be released."

"Clearly you don't want to release him," Míril sighed sadly.

Lalwen shook her head on the verge of tears. "I want to get rid of the pain I feel, the anger."

Míril thought about this. She went back through her conversation with Maedhros and nodded to herself. "The thing he regrets most is hurting his mother."

Suddenly Lalwen stopped her pacing and sat down. "What?"

"Nerdanel. He wishes to make peace with his mother," Míril told the elf maiden.

Lalwen burst into tears all of a sudden as Indis walked back inside. For Lalwen knew the pain Maedhros was suffering. She had hurt her own mother when she and her brother had left Valinor. Suddenly the pain Maedhros was going to her was made real to Lalwen.

Indis hugged her daughter before Lalwen fled the room. Míril was completely lost, but when she looked at Indis, she understood.

"She _wanted_ a reason to forgive?" Míril surmised.

Indis gave a small smile. "Indeed. This has been troubling her for many years now, ever since Maglor's release. I urged her to see Nienna, but she refused."

"I am pleased I was able to help," Míril nodded then paused. "However I did that."

"You made her realize Maedhros was just an elf, deep down. An elf whose father was a poor influence, and whose mother loved him very much." Indis took her by the hand. "Come, child. It is time you left. Glorfindel will guide you to your friends."

She walked outside with Indis to find the sun rising slowly in the East. Míril smiled at the light yellow light that shone across the pale blue sky. It was time to return to Ilmarin.


	22. Herald of Manwë

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today the chapter was mostly written by a guest writer. He's my brother, a computer scientist and as obsessed with Tolkien as I am.

She caught up with the boys soon enough, her red dress blowing in the breeze of the heights of Taniquetil. As Glorfindel led Míril onwards, she spotted them.

"There she is," Elrohir grinned, taking her hand. "And here I thought we'd lost you to the beauty of Valinor."

Míril laughed and rolled her eyes. "Not just yet."

The large group, now composed of Miril, Elladan, Elrohir, Fingon, Maglor, Carmegil, and Glorfindel climbed the great white steps towards Ilmarin. Their arrival was expected; Ilmare stood waiting for them near the great gates. She came to greet them, and Glorfindel bowed before her.

"Welcome home," she said to Glorfindel. Her smile was broad but she turned slightly more serious as she turned to Glorfindel and Carmegil. "My husband has need of your council."

At this they leapt up the remaining steps and disappeared into Ilmarin. Past the great gates, into the winding paths they went.

"As for the rest of you," she continued as her smile returned, "we shall have to find something to occupy your time while we wait for The Eye to be empty. Perhaps you would like a tour of the library?"

This suggestion was met with enthusiastic approval. Ilmare led them through the great hall and down through the northern passage into the flowering gardens. There were so many different plants that Míril had no idea what half of them were. She did however notice Elanor blooms, and a woman tending to them. The woman was a Maia, with dark skin and white hair, her eyes bright yellow. Míril would've asked about her had Ilmarë not kept moving forward.

As they made their way to the library, which stood at the western edge of the gardens directly across from the inn to the east, they saw a man hurriedly coming towards them on the path.

He walked quickly - with purpose - in stark contrast to the other visitors enjoying the beauty of Ilmarin. His countenance was fair and his dark hair well kept. His clothes were elegant and his cloak was a blazing red. He wore a sword at his side, in a scabbard covered in gems and runes. He spoke a few words to Ilmarë in a tongue none of the elves understood, to which she laughed and bid him good luck.

"Who was that?" Miril asked Fingon, but Fingon gave no answer.

"That, little one, is my beloved Eonwë." Ilmare began. "The Herald of Manwe, Prince of Eagles, The Spear of the Valar - his titles are many. He is our tireless guardian and Morgoth's bane."

Miril thought back to the paintings and sculptures in Rivendell depicting the great hero of the War of Wrath. "I thought he had wings" she thought, and accidentally spoke aloud.

The older elves laughed and Ilmarë smiled. Elladan and Elrohir silently agreed with Miril, though neither dared speak this aloud.

They spent a few hours in the library. It was in fact more museum than functional library, filled with not only books but art of every medium and relics of the Elder Days. They saw preserved branches of the Two Trees, a replica of Varda's crown, and even shards of gold from the Great Lamps that had been destroyed long before the first Elves awoke. Ilmarë told stories about each artifact as Elladan, Elrohir, and Miril hung on her every word.

After a few hours in the library Miril was starting to get hungry. Before she said anything about it, Ilmarë suggested they return to the inn for lunch."

"Lady Ilmarë, forgive me, but we had few stories in Rivendell about your daily deeds. What do you do when you are not entertaining guests with wonderful stories?" Miril asked Ilmarë carefully. She hoped Ilmarë would not be offended by her ignorance - she had read a lot more about Eonwë than Ilmare in the libraries of Rivendell.

"Oh there isn't much to tell." Ilmarë began, as if that might sound believable. "I have studied under Manwë and Varda's guidance since Arda was formed. I am married to Eonwë, who I have known since before he served the Valar. I keep the peace in political matters, preside over counsels of the Maiar and Eldar, and handle those lesser affairs of governance which are below my King and Queen."

Glorfindel and Carmegil joined the company for lunch in the inn. The food was excellent, and Ilmarë continued to answer questions from her young guests regarding the many relics they had seen in the library.

After lunch they returned to Ilmarin's main hall and passed through its southern gate into a tunnel that went down into the mountain. The walls of the tunnel were smooth except for torches at regular intervals.

"Welcome to the fortress." proclaimed Glorfindel as they entered.

Carmegil smirked. "Much more impressive than Thranduil's Halls were."

"How did you _ever_ survive there." Glorfindel laughed and shot him a smirk back.

They walked down the tunnel, passing the occasional intersecting passage, until they reached a large circular room with a high ceiling, lit by many torches. There were tables and desks along the walls, nearly all of them covered in maps and books. In the middle of the room the floor was made of clear glass, and about 5 feet below the glass was a map of Arda at least 100 feet across. Upon the map were thousands of colored markers showing the position and composition of every army in Middle Earth.

"We should have built something like this in Rivendell." said Elladan.

"The map?" asked Glorfindel. "We had plenty of maps. It is the ability to keep the armies on the map properly placed that makes this place special."

"Do you think Sauron had something like this?" Elrohir asked.

"Perhaps. Eonwë would know, if anyone does." Glorfindel answered.

Eonwë was standing on the glass over Rhun, staring down deep in thought. Haldanáro, the friend of Glorfindel and Carmegil, was with him. Soon both came to greet the visitors.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Eonwë asked his wife.

Ilmare got right to the point. "My guests would like to use The Eye."

"I know." he replied. "And I will see to it that they get time today. Olorin and Ravennië are in there now."

"Thank you." she said. "If you have a moment, I think my guests would like to meet you."

"And I am eager to meet them!" Eonwë said, much to their excitement. "I have gifts to give them."

He took from his pocket a handful of tokens like those down on the map below. He handed each of Míril, Elladan, and Elrohir a blue token with their name written in gold upon it.

"Pelennor, Black Gate, Harad, Arnor... You certainly saw your fair share of combat." Eonwë said, nodding towards the map beneath the floor.

Míril realized that these tokens were not keepsakes made for them. They had been pieces on Eonwë's board, and now that they had come west he no longer had need of them. The great game went on without them. She wondered if her children's names were on tokens below her feet.

Eonwë took four more pieces from his pocket. Two were blue and two were black. The first of the black chips he gave to Elrohir.

"Khamûl the Easterling, Second of the Nine," said Eonwë. "You are not the only person to get a chip with his name, but yours is the last."

Carmegil smirked. He had one as well, as did Gandalf and many others.

The next chip was also black, and went to Míril.

"Morloth the Black" Eonwë said as he handed Miril the chip. "I fought her long ago, under the trees by Utumno. When Angband fell she was nowhere to be found. It is good to know she won't be bothering anyone anytime soon."

The next chip was blue and went to Elrohir. It was Alatar's.

"Alatar was a friend of mine." Eonwë said sadly. "We hunted the servants of Morgoth side by side through many campaigns. I envied Olórin the chance to face Sauron, but I am glad that I will not need to be sent to hunt my friend."

The last chip was for Maglor. As he met Eonwë's gaze, they both stopped for a moment. Neither had forgotten the night Maglor had stolen the Silmaril. Not even now, so long after.

After hesitating, Eonwë handed him the chip. "Pallando was an odd fellow."

Ilmarë nodded in agreement.

Elladan was not at all happy to have received nothing but his own chip. He rightly guessed his twin would never let him forget it. "Well I guess I will have to go back to Middle Earth." he jested, to the amusement of all.

Ilmarë put her hand on Elladan's shoulder. "You should not take those tokens as the measure of success. Do you think either your brother or his wife would have made it through their adventures without your help?" she said.

"You must have quite a collection of these pieces." Miril said to Eonwë, trying to make conversation.

"Oh he does," said Ilmarë, before Eonwë could answer. "They are in a big pile in our basement, and if he has a bad day he sleeps on them like a dragon on its gold."

While all laughed a soldier came quickly up to them. He bowed to Ilmarë and then spoke to Eonwë. "The Eye is empty, Sir."

"Come," said Eonwë, leading them through an unmarked door out of the map room. They passed through several winding corridors before reaching a metal door guarded by two Guardsmen. They saluted their Captain and opened the door.

They passed through the doorway and into a spherical room 50 feet in diameter. They stood upon a floor of clear glass at the equator, and the elves walked very carefully, as all that stood between them and a 25 foot drop was an inch of glass. All the elves save Glorfindel were amazed. Even Fingon had never been in The Eye, which many in Valinor thought was just a legend of Eonwë's making.

"It won't break," Eonwë told them with a laugh. "I would have trouble breaking it."

They walked to the center of the room and the guards outside closed the door, leaving them in complete darkness. Eonwë then spoke in a tongue of ancient power, and the walls all around them began to glow. Slowly the light took shape, until you could no longer tell the walls were there - in all directions it looked as though there were clouds. Then the clouds seemed to move, until below them they saw not clouds but land far below them.

"Minas Tirith!" Exclaimed Elladan, pointing down. It looked as though they stood upon a circle of glass thousands of feet above the White City.

Elrohir looked on in amazement. "It's as if we were _inside_ a Palantir!"

"It works on the same principles." Eonwë nodded. "The walls are made of the same material as the seeing stones you are familiar with. From here you can appear to be anywhere in Arda."

Míril felt tears come to her eyes. "May we see our children?"

Eonwë nodded. Suddenly the room began to change, the view expanding as it fell upon an inn. The sign outside the door had a horse on it and read The Prancing Pony. As the scene moved inside, they came to a table by the Wall.

Aderthon was there, sitting in the corner. Across from him were Merry and Pippin. At a nearby table sat Aragorn, Arwen, Círeth and Fëalas. Míril, Elladan, and Elrohir saw tears on Aderthon's cheeks.

"It's a shame we can't hear them." Míril frowned and watched her son's lips move.

Ilmarë stepped between Elrohir and Miril, taking both by the hand. As soon as she touched them, they found they could hear as well as see.

" _They will never forget you, you know that," Pippin told Aderthon._

_He flashed a small smile. "Of course not. I just hope someday to see them again. For if I do not choose immortality, as they did, then we will be forever sundered."_

" _Which will you choose, do you think?" Merry asked him. "Surely you haven't decided yet."_

" _Nay," laughed Aderthon. "I have not."_

" _Then there is plenty of time to worry later," Pippin assured. "For now, let us be joyful, as they would've wanted."_

_Merry lifted his tankard. "To the three people who never let us have a boring day."_

" _Hear hear," Aderthon chuckled._

The light blurred and once again they seemed to be surrounded by clouds. Eventually the light went out entirely, and the door behind them opened once more. They filed out one by one, Eonwë last of all.

"I would ask that you not discuss what you have seen here." said Eonwë quite seriously. "Details of The Eye are not public knowledge. I want it to stay that way."

All three of them nodded immediately. They had no intention of crossing Eonwë. Or Ilmarë for that matter.

"Well, we have some time before dinner," Ilmarë said. "Would you care to return to my house to rest and talk?"

The company gladly accepted her offer. Even Eonwë was persuaded to go. They passed back through the map room and up to the main hall of Ilmarin. They went down into the gardens towards Ilmarë's house.

"Míril here was hoping you'd have wings." said Fingon suddenly with a smirk, in the middle of the gardens.

Míril's face turned red, both in anger and embarrassment. Elrohir came to her defense explaining, "She grew up admiring the great paintings in Rivendell, and in those..."

"I have wings." Eonwë said, completing his sentence. He nodded. "Well we can't have a fellow herald leaving Ilmarin disappointed!"

Miril had for a short time been Aragorn's standard bearer, and she blushed at the comparison. She was _nothing_ like Eonwë.

Eonwë took a step back from the crowd of elves and spoke in a loud, intimidating voice, "Perhaps this is closer to your expectations?"

Eonwë threw his right hand to the heavens, and what seemed to be a great bolt of lightning struck it. When Miril recovered from the shock she saw that in his hand was a silver spear, long and slender, unadorned with any markings or heraldry. His royal cloths had been replaced by shining armor of mithril and gold, the beauty of which the paintings in Rivendell did not do justice. His cloak seemed to glow with an inner flame.

The Herald of Manwe gave a cry as if of challenge, like nothing the newcomers had ever heard. It sounded like the cry of some great bird of prey, and it inspired in them great courage and excitement. To Miril it sounded in some strange way like the cry of the Nazgul - or rather that the cry of the Nazgul had been a cruel mockery of this glorious sound.

From the South came an answer: the calls of great eagles in their eyries in answer to their captain.

Fingon cried out, "Utúlie'n aurë!"

By now Miril had forgotten all about wings, but the Captain had not. He closed his eyes in concentration for a moment and as he opened them two great wings sprang from his back through two cuts in his cloak. They spread about 10 feet to either side of him. Most of his feathers were the same dark gold as the eagles Miril knew from the misty mountains, but a few were brighter.

After a nod from Ilmarë, Eonwe wrapped his left wing in front of himself and plucked a small bright golden feather from it. He gave it to Miril, saying "Keep this, heiress of Feanor, as proof that the Prince of Eagles has wings."

He stepped away from them once again and there was a flash of fire as his wings were pulled into his back. He held the spear, the Standard of The Valar, aloft and from it came a long and narrow banner - fourteen stars upon a field of blue. It fluttered in the wind for a few seconds before Eonwe tossed the spear into the air and a second bolt of lightning took it back to the sky.

"Alright children, show's over." Eonwë chuckled with a smile. His armor seemed to melt and fizzle away into the air, leaving his royal cloths in it's place.

Míril and the sons of Elrond stood speechless. They had seen both great beauty and terrible power during their time in Middle Earth, but nothing like Ilmarin had to offer. They had spent their entire lives in a war against an enemy of seemingly limitless power, and here they were treated as honored guests by the greatest of his kind. They resumed their walk towards Ilmarë's home.

"If you liked that, you should go to the Classic," Glorfindel told her.

Carmegil nodded in agreement. "They all should."

"What is that?" Miril asked.

"Eonwë and Tulkas spar with one another for sport." Said Fingon with a grin. "There is a tournament every year, entered by all those among the Ainur who enjoy such contests. Whenever Eonwë and Tulkas meet, it is called 'The Classic.' Ordinarily such contests have strict rules, but by long tradition Eonwë and Tulkas ignore them, so we get a glimpse at what the great battles of the Powers might have looked like."

"Oh it's wonderful." Ilmarë rolled her eyes. "All the risk of injury of war for none of the gains - because apparently a night at the theater isn't exciting enough for some people."

"They don't typically let me throw around fire and lighting in the theate," Eonwë replied. "And thanks to your skill as a healer the injuries don't last long. Plus, you make good use of the time, and I always make sure you get excellent tickets to give your friends."

This was true - Ilmarë did reward her political allies with tickets better than money could buy, and it was fun to watch her husband win, even if when he won Tulkas bloodied him pretty badly.

"Speaking of the theater, our guests have never seen a proper play," said Fingon, knowing Ilmare would help rectify that situation immediately.

"A new Fall of Gondolin opens two nights from now in at The Inkling Theater. I'll handle the tickets." She nodded immediately.

Fingon could hardly contain his excitement. The Fall of Gondolin was a good story, if a sad one. Glorfindel seemed less than enthusiastic, as he would most likely be a character in the play.

"I wonder who's playing you!" teased Fingon.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes, but Carmegil joined in. "Hopefully he's got good enough hair."

"You always did like your hair," Maglor teased, speaking up for the first time in a very long while. He had been thrown back in his ruminations to the early days of his life. These were days he wished he could revisit but alas, he could not.

_A/N: Thank you to heraldofmanwe my co-conspirator for the bones of this chapter._


	23. Dinner for Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins again... I hope to have another update out by the 19th of August. Thank you to Glassary for the kind comment!

The group talked for a few hours in Ilmarë and Eonwë's sitting room. Eonwë wanted to hear the tale of the reclamation of the Silmaril first hand, despite the fact that it was clear from his incessant questions that he had watched the whole thing quite intently and knew a great deal about the quest. He was about to question them on the Arnor affair when Ilmarë rescued the elves by asking Eonwë to go check on the dinner she had asked the chefs at the inn to make for the guests.

"We are to eat here?" Miril asked excitedly.

"You, Elladan, and Elrohir." Ilmarë nodded with a smile. She was enjoying their company, as she rarely had guests who did not want some political favor. In addition, she sensed great potential in this young heir of Fëanor and the sons of Elrond.

Soon the food arrived, and Eonwë with it. Those elves not invited to dinner paid their respects and left for the inn.

"That went remarkably well," said Fingon quietly, as soon as they had left the house. "Tickets to a new play  _and_  the classic!"

"Is that why you came?" asked Glorfindel incredulously.

"One should never pass up a chance to spend time with Lady Ilmarë," Fingon said. "She is very generous, and a great patron of the arts."

"Surely the great Fingon, Prince of The Noldor, can get tickets to a play?" Carmegil asked.

"Tickets yes, but not like Ilmarë's. I suspect we will be in her box. There is no better view at The Inkling."

"Or perhaps the little ones will be in her box and you will be in a corner, the reward for asking Her Grace for tickets," Carmegil winked with a wry smile.

"Ilmarë wouldn't do that" Fingon objected instantly, sounding a little concerned. "She wouldn't do that..."

Back in Eonwë's house Ilmarë led the three remaining elves into her dining room. Eonwë soon joined them. The table was furnished with chairs to comfortably seat seven on either side and one at each end.

"Fourteen, for the Valar," commented Elrohir. Elladan and Miril caught their breath at the thought.

Eonwë sat at the head of the table, with Ilmarë at his right hand. Miril sat at to his left, with Elrohir beside her. Elladan tried to sit beside his brother, but Ilmarë insisted he sit beside her. The three elves were surprised to find that Ilmare had ordered them dishes tailored to their tastes.

"We have forgotten wine!" said Eonwë leaping up.

"Get something good, our guests have never had good wine," said Ilmarë.

"The wine in the inn is amazing," Miril assured her.

Ilmare smiled sweetly. "As I said, you have never had truly great wine."

Eonwe soon returned with a bottle. "I won this from Tulkas a few years ago. It is older than our guests."

Eonwë poured the wine in the most beautiful wine glasses they had ever seen. They looked to be carved of clear crystal, and were inlaid with many gems. Miril had lived in luxury in Minas Tirith for many years, but the king's palace paled in comparison to Ilmarë's abode. A single wine glass was probably worth more than all of Aragorn's good dishes put together.

They spoke of many things over dinner. Ilmarë tried to learn all she could of their interests and desires. She was gifted with only a little foresight, but what clairvoyance she had told her these three would be important to her future in some way.

After Ilmarë heard the tale of Miril and Elrohir's history, Elrohir worked up the courage to ask a question of his own. "Might we ask how you first met?"

Ilmarë did not seem eager to tell the tale, and turned to Eonwë. Elrohir worried he had asked the wrong question, but Eonwë gave them a short account.

"As you may know, I was not always as I am now," he began. "I was in the beginning a student of Melkor, who you know as Morgoth. I led the armies of darkness, and what you call the Balrogs in particular. During a seemingly unimportant battle for nothing more than a hill, my company came upon no defenders, only Ilmarë and a number of Maiar with no desire to fight. She surrendered and asked only that we let her and her people leave unharmed. I accepted, saying only it was a pity there would be no battle that day."

Ilmarë took her husband's hand. He clearly did not want to recall his distant past, but he continued the tale.

"There was among my company, which was composed of the deadliest servants of Melkor, one named Gothmog. He declared that he would accept no surrender, and would kill every servant of the Valar he could. I was furious at his insubordination, and Ilmarë was cunning. She asked which of us spoke for our unit. Unfortunately it became clear that most of the Balrogs sided with Gothmog, and he told me to leave quickly if I wished no part in the slaughter. Ilmarë begged me to save her and her people.

"I saw no difference between slaughtering them myself and walking away and letting Gothmog and his friends do it. I also realized Melkor would side with Gothmog over me. I drew my mace and sword and said that I was glad there would be a battle after all.

"I was prepared to stand one against fifty, but there were a number of soldiers loyal to me who came to my defense. We were still outnumbered four to one but we won the day. Few among Gothmog's men were willing to face me in battle for nothing more than a chance to slaughter a few innocents, and Gothmog himself I quickly defeated. He is far more cruel than clever, and spends too much time celebrating and not enough time practicing."

Eonwë finished his tale and saw that his guests looked shocked.

"I see that tale was not in the history books of Rivendell," he said with a laugh. "Do not worry, it is a dark tale, but it is good to hear. Do not think that all those who serve the darkness will never see the light."

Míril and Elrohir exchanged a look. Could this apply to their daughter?

Elladan dared ask the next question as his friends remained quiet. "How did you come to know Glorfindel?"

Eonwë responded with a smile. "He served in the Eagle Guard during the great war. Eventually he was promoted into my most elite unit. By the end of the war I relied upon him as much as any elf. He is clever, clear headed, and a natural leader."

"And he says he wasn't a hero," said Miril laughing. "All he'll say is 'I served in the company of heroes.''

"And so also says every man who has ever served with him," said Eonwë.

Ilmarë shook her head with a smile. "What do each of you wish to do in Valinor?"

Elladan considered this carefully. He thought about all the possibilities at hand, all the jobs he could look into. But only one was tempting him.

"I wish to hunt with Lord Oromë if he would allow it," Elladan responded.

Eonwë nodded approvingly. "A worthy pursuit. I am sure he would welcome it."

"I think I wish to serve the court of King Finarfin," said Elrohir.

"I am sure he will be glad to have you," said Ilmarë, pleased with this decision.

Míril was quiet. "I don't suppose there is any room in your guard for new soldiers?"

"The guard is always open to new members," said the Captain. "But you have a lot to learn before you are ready."

"I'll need a teacher." Miril nodded.

Eonwë smirked. "I have a few ideas."

After dinner Ilmarë had one final treat for her guests. She led them upstairs and onto a balcony on the back of her house.

It was very dark but Tirion was clearly visible in the valley below. Thousands of small fires - lamps along every road and candles in many windows - showed the city as an intricate web of light.

"The eagles are lucky," said Miril. "The world looks so beautiful from up here."

Elrohir leaned in and whispered to her. "Almost as beautiful as you are."

Laughing lightly, Elladan took a sip of wine as he stood beside his twin. He watched Tirion below and agreed with his sister-in-law's assertion that Tirion was beyond beautiful.


	24. An Homage

Everything burned as the inferno raged. Out of the heart of the flames stepped a massive figure, clouded in smoke. In his right hand, he wielded an ax with a head of fire and melting steel. His left hand held a flaming whip of many tongs.  
  
Turgon and Ecthelion stepped back from the monster.   
  
"We must retreat, my lord," said Ecthelion.   
  
"And go where?" Turgon demanded. "I will hide no longer! Where was I when my father dueled the great enemy? Where was I when my brother fell before the doors of Angband, a shining light amid shadow and flame?  Ever our first concern was this city, which we called the hope of the Noldor. Now that hope lies in ruin! What remains for us now, but revenge?"   
  
Ecthelion drew his sword and held it aloft in defiance of the coming shadow. "So it shall be!  What foe could stand before the might of Orchrist and Glamdring drawn together beneath the flower of Laurelin!"   
  
"While we may not have the strength to avenge my father," cried Turgon, "naught but 20 yards stands between us and my brother's killer. Let us bring bold Fingon good tidings in the halls of Mandos!"   
  
As the King and his captain charged the Lord of the Balrogs, the curtains closed.  Everyone leapt to their feet to applaud the performers.  After several minutes Ilmarë led them out of the theater and into the lobby.   
  
"How could they," exclaimed Carmegil as they left the theater. "They cut out the duel of the pointy hat!"   
  
Glorfindel laughed merrily.  "Would they have us believe it was by the might of Orchrist and Glamdring that Gothmog was slain?  Where was Gothmog's Bane?"   
  
"And how many confirmed kills do your helmets have?" asked a man approaching them in the lobby.   
  
"Ecthelion!" exclaimed Glorfindel, rushing to embrace him.  Carmegil followed suit.   
  
"None that I recall; I prefer more elegant techniques," said the Herald of Manwë with a smile and a wink.   
  
"Elegant?  In eagle form I saw you bite a troll," laughed Ecthelion.   
  
"I don't recommend that - it tasted terrible," quipped Eönwë, his face contorting in disgusr.   
  
The company filed out of the lobby and into a great courtyard of Tirion.  It was late, but the streets were far from empty.   
  
"I regret I must leave you now," said Eönwë.  "Tulkas and Oromë are likely already in Ilmarin, and they will expect me to be there to brief them on the situation in Middle Earth."   
  
"You just want an excuse to fly back instead of riding," said Carmegil.   
  
"When have I even needed an excuse to do that?" asked the Prince of Eagles.   
  
Eönwë kissed his wife goodnight and stepped a safe distance away from the elves. With a flash of fire his wings appeared, outstretched on either side. For a moment he seemed to crouch, as one might before a jump, then he shot a hundred yards into the air and circled once above the theater. Throwing his wings back he disappeared quickly into clouds above the city.   
  
"What is the point of wings if he need not flap them for lift?" asked Elladan in surprise.   
  
"They look good," chuckled Carmegil devilishly.   
  
Glorfindel shook his head. "They help him turn."   
  
"Mostly the second; perhaps a bit of the first," said Ilmarë.  "I fear I must leave you as well, my friends. King Finarfin is expecting me."   
  
As Ilmarë walked quickly off in the direction of Finarfin's palace, Fingon and Maglor hurried up to them, finally locating the group from where they’d been seated.

 

“The play was wonderous, no?” Fingon’s grin spread all across his face. “The actor who plays my brother, he really captured Turgon’s essence. Mighty and proud.”

 

“You might also like his speech?” Maglor smirked with an eye roll. “'A shining light amid shadow and flame’ he called you. The playwright outdid himself this time. Though I did miss the helmet kill this time around.”

 

Ecthelion chuckled, and shook his head. He turned to the twins and Míril. “I do not believe we have been introduced. My comrades here were remiss in their duties as usual.” He bowed to them. “I am Ecthelion.”

 

They each introduced themselves to him quickly and eagerly.

 

Elladan hesitated, but eventually ventured a question. “How accurate _was_ the play?”

 

Glorfindel and Ecthelion exchanged glances. The former shrugged and responded to them. “Accurate enough. You have seen battle. Even here in the Blessed Realm, where much is at our disposal, one cannot replicate the panic and horror of war.”

 

“Yet the actors do an admirable job, and the speeches are well crafted.” Ecthelion smirked. “And they know when to leave out the parts not worthy of song.”

 

“Like the fact that Ecthelion killed Gothmog by impaling him with his helmet,” Carmegil chipped in helpfully.

 

Both Glorfindel and Ecthelion stared at him in irritation. They had hoped to avoid calling it exactly as it had been.

 

“Oh come now, Ecthelion. These young ones deserve to know, do they not?” Carmegil snickered.

 

Ecthelion rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Careful, Carmegil. You may end up at the Ice Bay if you keep up.”

 

The other saw real fear pass over Carmegil’s face for a split second. There was silence before he and Ecthelion both started laughing raucously. Fingon and Maglor shook their heads.

 

“Fortunately that is not something _we_ need to worry about,” Fingon smiled. He turned to the twins and Míril. “Before you ask, the Ice Bay is in the far north, at the edge of the Helcaraxë. Eonwë keeps a guard post up there.”

 

“Eonwë keeps a guard post up there, yes,” Glorfindel nodded. “A guard post filled with those who have spoken… let's say… with open disdain for certain things Eonwë holds close.”

 

“Anyone who annoys him, really,” Carmegil clarified cheekily.

 

Míril laughed and turned to the twins. “I bet Aragorn wishes he had somewhere like that to send the unruly soldiers.”

 

“Fëalas and Círeth have their own places to send their rangers,” Elladan reminded her. “Círeth particularly enjoys sending those who disrespect her womanhood to the farthest reaches of Gondor.”

 

The whole company laughed at that. Soon enough, Míril and the twins found themselves yawning in exhaustion. Several nights had passed since their last good sleep.

 

“We will bid you goodnight and goodbye for now,” Glorfindel said with a smile. “I trust that Maglor and Fingon can escort you home?”

 

“We could find our way on our own,” Míril protested.

 

Fingon chuckled. “There is no need. For I believe, if we want to follow… the plan?” He looked over at Maglor in question.

 

“Indeed.” Maglor nodded. “If you don't mind staying up another few hours? There are two who wish to see you back on Tol Eressëa. And as we must return there anyways?”

 

“Of course,” Elrohir instantly nodded to him. “We trust your judgement.”

 

“Speak for yourself, my love,” Míril whispered with a smirk.

 

“I do believe we were just insulted,” Fingon muttered, raising an eyebrow. “She just insulted the once High King of the Noldor, and his friend.”

 

Maglor glared at Fingon good-naturedly. “Did _you_ just insult me?”

 

As they bickered, the twins and Míril bid Glorfindel, Carmegil, and Ecthelion goodnight. The three warriors of Eonwë's Eagle Guard walked into the night, exchanging pleasant conversation.


	25. The House of Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on FFN for the anniversary of J.R.R. Tolkien's passing. God bless you, Master Tolkien.

As the boat bearing Maglor, Fingon, Elladan, Elrohir, and Míril drifted across the waves and approached the shore, the spray of seawater tossed a salty tang into the air. The rush of air as the swans pulled their boat blew their cloaks behind them. The night seemed still, and yet the gentle up and down of the waves showed how truly alive the world was.

As the boat docked, Maglor took each person's arm and hoised them up onto the stone pier. He pulled Elladan up, the last to leave the boat, and pointed down the row of beachfront houses. "The one we're visiting isn't far from here. A five minute walk at most."

"Good." Míril yawned, causing her to pause before she could continue. "I'm exhausted."

"The night is still young, my friends," Fingon teased. He spun around to face them, walking backwards. The golden ribbons in his hair flashed in the moonlight of Telperion's blossom. "Come along. Follow me."

The twins followed Fingon quickly, while Míril trailed slightly behind. She once more admired the beauty of the land she now called home. The bright stars above, the white stone below, the atmosphere had become irreplaceable to her. She ran her fingers through her salt-soaked hair absentmindedly.

Maglor walked beside her. He held his arms behind his back and said nothing. Instead he observed her quietly. With each step they made, their destination drew closer and sleep would come soon. He knew she looked forward to getting home after so long.

Fingon stopped in front of small cottage style house. Tucked away around a corner, but still sitting near the beach, a small glow shone through the curtained windows.

The elf nodded with a smile. "Here we are." He approached the door and knocked quietly.

A few moments passed before a small figure opened the door. His hair, dark yet peppered with silver-grey, looked on them in amazement.

"Frodo!" cried all three of the half elves.

The Hobbit flashed them a gentle smile. "My, you barely look any older than when I last saw you years ago!"

Míril laughed. "Frodo, it is good to see you. But what are you doing up so late?"

"He likes to do his writing at night," Maglor chipped in with a smile at the hobbit. "Is that not correct, Master Frodo?"

"As usual, you are correct, Lord Maglor." Frodo beckoned for them to follow him inside.

"You know I don't want you calling me by my title," Maglor protested, following Míril inside. "To you I am but a friend."

Frodo nodded. He walked over to a small kettle and put hot water on. "And you know I feel the same. I insist you drop the 'master' from my name."

Maglor dipped his head an agreement. He sat down at a chair designed for elvish visitors. The others took a couch and the floor. Frodo returned to them after putting food on plates and nodded.

"Maglor would you follow me? The rest of you, stay here," he said to them. "We'll be right back."

As the two disappeared deeper into the house, Míril looked around. She reached to the small table before her and took a seed cake. Her mouth watered as she realized it had been many hours since she'd last eaten. She wolfed it down in three bites.

When Frodo and Maglor returned a minute later, they brought an even greater surprise. For being pushed in an elven crafted wheelchair sat a hobbit, old of face, but young of heart. The top of his head was bald, but white hair still sprung up around it. His blue eyes twinkle upon seeing the half elves, and he smiled.

"Elladan. Elrohir. Míril." Bilbo chuckled lightly. "How good of you to visit!"

"Bilbo," Elrohir laughed in glee. "This is unexpected to say the least. But certainly not unwelcome!"

"Unexpected, yes." Bilbo blinked back tears. "The Valar have smiled upon me and allowed us this meeting before I pass."

"Don't speak like that," Elladan frowned. "Surely just living here extends your life!"

Fingon replied for the hobbit. "It does, to a certain extent. But hobbits are not elves, though we lament this fact."

Bilbo saw Míril glancing to a side table. On it were several books. One, black with silver script, another red with white script. He smiled.

"Let's not talk of death any more tonight. I see Míril has found my books!" The elderly hobbit smiled fondly at the texts. "I fear I will not finish them."

"I thought we weren't to talk of death!" Maglor interjected.

Bilbo smirked and shrugged. But Elrohir eagerly stood and walked over to the table. He reached out to take the red one but Frodo shook his head.

"They aren't finished yet," he explained.

Elrohir rolled his eyes. "This again, old friend? You always were secretive about your stories."

"'The Adventures of Tom Bombadil'?" Elladan remarked, peering over his twin's shoulder. "'The Children of Húrin: a Westron Translation of Narn i Chîn Húrin'? 'Beren and Lúthien: a Westron Translation of the Lay of Leithien'?"

"Ambitious projects, I know," Bilbo sighed. "I fear I've bit off more than I can chew."

Maglor lay a hand on the hobbit's shoulder. He sighed and shook his head. "At least you have Frodo here to continue your work even if you cannot complete it."

Frodo frowned slightly but he nodded and knelt in front of Bilbo. The elderly hobbit smiled fondly at his nephew. Pain and joy crossed his eyes as memories flooded in.

"I am blessed to have you at my side, my lad." He ruffled Frodo's hair. After a moment of silence he turned to the rest. "What are have you done in the Blessed Realm so far? And what do you plan to do next?"

Elladan, Elrohir, and Míril recounted all that had befallen them since arriving. Frodo and Bilbo nodded along, asking questions about this or that, thoroughly engaged. Every so often Maglor or Fingon would jump in with more information.

"You rode an eagle?" Bilbo laughed. "I have not done that since the days of my adventures with the dwarves! Exhilarating, yes?"

Míril nodded immediately, her heart pounding just thinking about it. "It was amazing. I can't describe it in words."

Frodo agreed. Maglor, however, simply shrugged. "I suppose I am the only one present who has never had the luxury."

They laughed merrily, as it was true. Fingon had ridden Thorondor, Miril, Elladan, and Elrohir had ridden Isilmo, and the hobbits, Gwaihir and Landroval.

The company remained for many hours. The pleasant warmth of the hearth and the comfort of the blanket she had been given coaxed Míril to sleep a few hours in. With her head on the couch cushion, she drifted away, dreaming of the days she had spent in Rivendell.


	26. In Need of Adventure

Many days of peaceful rest followed after that night visiting the hobbits. Fingon and Maglor disappeared that next morning and had been gone since, but Miril especially did not view this as a tragedy. She enjoyed the quiet time with her husband, and occasional days with her brother and his wife. Elladan popped in and out fairly regularly, though he spent the majority of his time with his parents, reclaiming the years they'd spent separated.

And yet, despite all the years of grief and hardship and constant  _doing_ , they all found themselves craving some form of  _adventure_. When they told Celebrian this one night as all sat in her sitting room, she laughed lightly and shook her head, sipping a glass of wine she'd gotten from Vana's vineyard.

"You can take heroes out of the quest, but never the quest out of the heroes," she explained moments later. "The three of you will go insane if you remain cooped up on this island."

"What are we to do?" Elladan moaned. "I have explored every inch here."

Elrond rolled his eyes. "Then go explore every inch of Valinor. It will take you many ages to do so and that way we will be rid of you for at least a time."

As they laughed in response to Elrond's muttering, a knock sounded on the door. Elrohir, who sat closest to the door, hopped up and went to open it. Standing before them were two, all too familiar elves.

"Good evening Elrohir!" Fingon grinned widely.

The younger twin raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Maglor rolled his eyes back at the half-elf. "We were invited."

"What's the passcode?" Miril shouted through the door.

Elrohir smirked as the yell came. "I like it. What's the pass code?"

"Elrohir I may not be High King any more, but surely my name has some form of authority." Fingon muttered.

"By all that is good," Celebrian laughed, "let them in Elrohir! I did in fact invite them."

Elrohir stood aside. As the two elves passed him, he smirked at Fingon who merely responded by taking the half-elf's seat. He had to suppress a laugh at the man's expense. Maglor, not caring to involve himself in a petty feud, decided standing suited him well enough.

"You've been absent far too long," Elrond told his foster father. "My children grow restless and who have I to send them to but you?"

Maglor chuckled. "Do not worry any longer, Elrond. That is why we are here."

Elrohir muttered under his breath as he squeezed in between Miril and Elladan on a coach. But the other two looked much more excited at the prospect of an adventure alongside Maglor and Fingon.

Miril's face brightened. "What did you have in mind?"

"You've seen a handful of the Valar." Fingon began speaking slowly, almost teasingly. After a brief pause, he continued on. "Manwë, Varda, Ulmo, Oromë, Nienna, Mandos, Estë, Vairë, Lorien. There are some you have still yet to see."

Maglor interrupted. "Fingon is trying to say that we had an idea for how you can meet the others. To start, Oromë has requested to see you yet again, and his sister Nessa shall be there also."

"Certainly this is good news!" Elrond nodded. "Please, take them out of here."

Miril shook her head. "I'm afraid my father in law does not appreciate our company."

As Elrond went to object, Celebrian cut him off. "Don't mind him. You know you're always welcome here." She paused. "But he isn't wrong."

They all laughed at the slight jab. Fingon stood to join Maglor. They moved to the door, Fingon speaking to them without even sending a glance their way. "Are you coming?"

"Now?" Míril asked, eyes wide. "We need to at least pack clothing!

"We will stop at your house on the way down to the docks," Maglor chuckled, pausing to turn back as he opened the door. "Elladan, you can wear some of Elrohir's clothes."

As they all stood to leave, Elrohir murmured to himself. "I have not shared clothes with my twin since we were children."

Míril merely laughed as she pushed her husband towards the door. They bid farewell to Elrond and Celebrían, following Maglor and Fingon quickly down the street through the darkness of night. A billion of Varda's jewels sparkled far above them in the sky, lighting their way beside Tilion in the moon.

Harp music played from somewhere above them, in a higher circle of Tol Eressëa. It lilted through the air, reaching their ears even as they got to Míril's and Elrohir's house. Together they went inside, packing bags of clothes for all three travelers, and Míril changing into her tunic of the Reunited Kingdom. Several minutes later, they reappeared outside.

"Here." Elrohir threw a pack at Elladan. "Don't get the clothes dirty."

Elladan chuckled, enjoyment in the situation far too evident for his brother's liking. Fingon called for the twins to hurry up as they stared at each other, each daring the other to do something stupid. At last they broke, Míril pushing them forward.

"Come on." She jogged to catch up with Maglor. "I long to see Valinor proper again!"

Minutes passed quietly by. A few ladies out tending moon flowers waved as they passed. Míril wished she knew more of her neighbors, and made a mental note to do just that when the occasion next presented itself. For now, most of the elves of Tol Eressëa knew her by her relation to Celebrían. The less renowned elves also seemed to know Eldir her brother and his wife Ruivë, and thus recognized his younger sister. Of course, all knew Fingon and Maglor.

A small child ran along the docks. She pouted, halting in her quest as the glowing blue butterfly she chased lifted out of reach. She chewed on a few strands of dark hair before turning to face the adults.

"Do you need a boat, my lord?" she asked Fingon, her speech mature as was typical with even small elven children. She pointed towards a pier down the line. "My father is that way."

"Thank you, Alquien," Fingon said with a nod and a smile. "Careful on the piers now."

"No need to lecture me my lord. I know these docks like the map of Valinor!" She bowed her head. "Though the concern is appreciated, as always."

Fingon chuckled and waved as he led the group towards her father's workshop. A roaring fire and many candles lit the area where he worked wood and steel to create beams and nails for ships. The elf stood tall, his black hair cut shorter than most elves Míril knew, but to shoulder length. Even then it was tied back.

"Urusto," Fingon nodded. "Your daughter told me to find you here."

"My lord." The elf stopped his drawing of blueprints and stood, bowing his head to the newcomers. When his eyes traveled the group and met with Maglor's, he stiffened. But when he faced Fingon again, his voice was friendly and respectful. "What can I do for you, lord?"

"We have need of transport to the mainland," Fingon began. "I would ask for but a boat, but we will likely not be returning hither any time particularly soon, and would hate to strand a vessel there without an owner for long."

"The sentiment is appreciated." He looked them over. "Five passengers? To the Noldorin docks on Bay of Eldamar I assume? Certainly not to Alqualondë given the passengers?"

Fingon glanced at Maglor only briefly before straightening up. "Do treat my cousin with the respect he deserves given his pardoning by the Valar."

"No, my friend. He is not wrong." Maglor shook his head and raised a hand. "I am not welcome there, not yet and possibly never will be."

A new voice sounded from the doorway to the man's humble house, "Tis only right that way."

They all looked to find a woman, silver haired and with an ugly burnt scar across her left chin and cheek. She stood in the doorway, arms folded and eyes blazing in ages of grief and anger.

"Tyelpë, forget not that I too partook in the Kinslayings of Alqualondë," Fingon reminded her. "And yet all welcomed me back with open arms, even your own people.

She glared at him. "Forgive my speech, Lord. But it was not the same. You did not partake freely. You were tricked by his father and he himself."

"Tyelpë!" Urusto warned his wife in a low voice. He turned back to the group. "Come, for because my lord requests it, I will take you there upon my vessel."

"We could ask someone else?" Míril murmured, highly uncomfortable. "Surely?"

"Nay," Urusto shook his head with a rueful laugh. "Heiress of Fëanáro. My lord comes to me because I will not refuse him. Others might. Hurry now, the tides are at a good height."

They followed him as he led the way to the dock where his daughter stood. She began to undo the rope and brought it to Urusto.

"Alquien, come along. You did wish to journey to the mainland soon did you not?" Urusto spoke to her as he placed the ramp for the others. "Get the swans ready."

She clasped her hands together happily and ran barefoot onto the deck of the ship. She disappeared down the top and around out of sight. As the others boarded, a great honking alerted everyone to three brilliant white swans. Urusto pulled the plank inside and whistled. Instantly the boat began to move, the swans pulling it through the water.

"We should be there in an hour." Urusto told Fingon. "I once more apologize for my wife, lord."

Fingon shook his head. "I do not feel offended. It is we who have wronged her and her people more than can ever be mended."


	27. Gifts for the Travellers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are dogs.

Upon reaching the Noldorin docks, Urusto set down the ramp so they could disembark. Fingon exchanged a moment of farewell before rustling Alquien's dark hair and joining the others off the boat. Maglor led the twins and Miril forward and soon he caught up. The dawn was closing in as they walked up the hundred ivory steps into the city of the Noldor.

"Where are we meeting the Valar?" Elladan asked him, eager to see the lord Oromë once more.

Fingon pointed through the city's main street. "On Ezellohar, the side open to the Plains of Yavanna in the south."

"Where the Trees once stood?" Miril gasped in anticipation.

Maglor nodded. "Yes."

The three half elves noticed at once that both their elven companions seemed solemn, Maglor appearing to be more so than usual. Even Fingon's usual smile had faded into nonexistence. And yet, though their faces stayed drawn in remembrance of days long past, to the other three, the golden rays of Arien's blossom caused all around the party to glow in gladness. For now that the moon blossom had dipped away, and the stars of Varda faded from view, the sun cast warm shadows through the great city of the Noldor. The ivory and marble around them as the walked glowed gold instead of white.

Inhabitants of Tirion opened their doors and windows to bask in the glory of morning. Fingon and Maglor led Elladan, Elrohir, and Miril by side roads, hoping to avoid drawing crowds. Ever popular with the masses, Fingon knew that the three half elves did not need the unwanted attention just yet.

And so at last they came out of the city and into the smaller homesteads that dotted the countryside. An hour passed, then two and three. Every so often, while they still met houses, elves would come out to wave at Fingon and his companions. Occasional dark looks were cast at Maglor, but the half elves remained rather innocuous and inconspicuous. No one knew them to be the bearers of the silmaril at first glance.

Soon enough, by the end of hour number three, the houses were gone and green fields of tended grass stretched as far as the half elves could see. At the edge of sight was a hill, gently sloping up a far distance to a great height.

"Ezellohar?" Miril asked their guides when they stopped for lunch. "Is that what we can glimpse across the fields?"

Maglor nodded. "Indeed it is."

Fingon drew out apples from his pack and threw them to each traveller. "These are from Yavanna's orchard. I won them from one of the elves who works there in a dice game."

Miril caught her golden apple and looked at it. In a certain light it almost seemed to glow, but she quickly rejected this idea. Apples didn't glow. She watched Maglor take a bite before daring to eat her own. In that bite exploded a million different flavors. The juice rolled down on her chin and she wiped the watery goodness with her sleeve.

"Incredible," was all she could say. She looked over at Elladan and Elrohir who looked about as shocked as her and laughed. "I guess I am not the only one to feel such a way!"

"Don't get too used to it," Maglor warned them with a small smile. "Lady Yavanna rarely parts with these particular apples. Not easily, at least."

Fingon nodded in agreement as he took another bite. "I was fortunate enough to come across a half dozen this time around. I barely get my hands on one at a time in most circumstances."

Once lunch had finished, they began walking towards Ezellohar again. Elladan and Elrohir pestered Fingon and Maglor with questions about the days of old, while Miril contentedly strolled behind. Part of her remained reluctant to see the hill. For she knew at the top lay the object that had wrought so much ruin inadvertently in the First Age. Miril was unsure as to how seeing the silmaril this time would affect her.

"Oromë and Nessa should be around the other side. Do you wish to climb it, or do that another day?" Maglor asked them as they approached the base of the green hill. "I will not lie to you. I do not desire to make the climb right now, but I will if you want to."

Elladan and Elrohir looked to Miril. She paused, hesitating slightly longer than she intended. But at last she answered, straightening up. "Let us go up."

And so they began the walk up to the top of Ezellohar. A few elflings ran up and down the green, rolling in the grass beneath the combined light of the sun and the silmaril. Flowers, pink and blue and white, speckled the ground every so often. With every step forward, Miril felt her stomach churning though she could not tell if it was from excitement or dread.

Ahead, two massive, decaying trees stood at the top. Blackened as though they'd been burned, bark peeling off, the five elves physically stopped for a few moments as they drew closer. To the left, Telperion, to the right, Laurelin. But they stood dark against the bright light at their center. For suspended in a monument of stone between the dead trees sat the silmaril.

Elladan glanced to his side and saw both Fingon and Maglor letting tears flow freely. To his other side, Miril was all eyes for the silmaril. But he noted in relief that there seemed none of the hunger in her eyes that had been there when the trio had found it in Middle Earth. Perhaps they had Nienna to thank for that. The elder twin moved beside his brother and shot him a tiny half smile.

Fingon frowned, sighing. "Auta i lomë."

"Aurë entuluva," Maglor reminded his friend. "Dare I even say it has come, my friend? The dawn at least. For two silmarils are here, though one travels far above us."

Elrohir took a step forward towards the pillar of stone with the jewel. He noticed a plaque in the stone itself, and smiled. For written in Quenya lay a message for all that might visit.

" _Here we remember those that brought the light back to us._

_Maglor, of the Spirit of Fire._

_Elrohir and Elladan, descendants of Luthien._

_Miril, called Feanoriel._

_Let none forget their trials._ "

"We are grateful for what you did for all of us," came a voice behind them, female and lilting.

As everyone turned, they found Oromë leading Nahar behind him with a few other animals, and beside the Vala stood his sister. Nessa's hair flowed long and golden, with brown flecked among the gold. Her skin, much paler than the ruddy skin of her brother, recalled the ivory steps of Tirion at the dawn. Beside her stood a stag, tall and white, with dark eyes. 

Instantly they bowed. Nessa smiled and shook her head, telling them to stand. "I came from Valmar with my brother. I wished to meet the heroes we have heard so much about from our peers."

"And I bear gifts for you. Horses, for your trek around this land. For you cannot be walking everywhere." Oromë shook his head as Nessa went to protest. "Not all are as fleet of foot as you, sister."

She laughed, and it filled the air like music. "Indeed not. But with the horses we bring you, you can try your best."

"Thank you, lord and lady," Elladan nodded eagerly.

Five horses were led forward by Nahar. Two grey stallions, a white mare, a black mare, and a brown stallion wandered to the twins, Miril, Fingon, and Maglor respectively. Miril look at the horse before her and was reminded instantly of Shadowfax.

"Do they have names?" She asked.

Oromë nodded. "Yours is Marillindë."

He told the others of the names of their horses before at last he stopped in front of Elladan. He whistled, and from behind Nahar came forward a large, golden wolf hound. Wirey haired, and about just below Elladan's waist, it bounded forward, barking. Oromë nearly rolled his eyes it seemed to the elves.

"One last present I bear." He looked at Elladan. "Millennia ago, I gifted my prized hound to the one you know as Celegorm. I knew him by other names then, but he was a good friend of mine." The Vala paused. "Huan chose a different master, he chose Luthien, of the line of Melian. This pup you see before you is one of Huan's line. I can think of no one better suited to gift her to than you."

"My lord," Elladan dropped to his knee once more. "You do me incredible honor."

"Rise, Elladan, of the line of Luthien." Oromë nodded to the bouncing puppy. "This is Auriel. Together may you learn the Hunt."

Elladan nodded and smiled at the excited puppy. "When shall we begin?"

"I will send for you soon," Oromë answered vaguely. "There are still those you must meet, and events that must pass, before your training can begin in earnest."

Nessa laughed. "My brother always is so dramatic."

"Come," he said, shaking his head at Nessa. "We must be returning to Valmar. I need to speak with Tulkas."

"Is it that time already?" Nessa glanced up at the sky. "Indeed it is! Farewell, friends! Truly you must visit Valmar soon."

"We shall bring them someday, my lady," Fingon laughed. "But there are many sights left to see before the wondrous city of Valmar. Taking them there right away might blow their minds."

They all laughed, though the trio of half elves more hesitantly than the rest. Oromë and Nessa took off towards what they assumed was Valmar, the Vala on his horse, and the Valie on foot. Neither beat the other, for both were equally matched. 


	28. Fire and Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet the Maker

"Where are we heading first?" Míril asked their two guides as Elladan and Elrohir ruffled the puppy's fur.

"To answer that question, we must explain something else first." Fingon's eyes twinkled in excitement. "For there is going to be a great event soon."

"What kind of event?" Elladan looked up curiously from petting Auriel.

Maglor went to speak but an eager Fingon interrupted. "The Tournament. It happens once a year, where all the greatest warriors come together and spar. There are horse races, too, and archery contests. Merchants set up their wares. It is a great spectacle!" He grinned. "There's also a play put on each night."

"Anyone can enter," Maglor added. "And we were all hoping that you would consider it."

The three companions stood in shock. Auriel whined, pushing up against Elladan forcefully and causing him to stumble forward. The sun beat down and slowly was heading towards the horizon line.

"Us?" Elrohir asked in surprise. "Surely we cannot even begin to compete with Valinor's best."

"Don't sell yourselves short." Fingon smiled at them. "Glorfindel speaks highly of all three of you."

Míril grinned from ear to ear. Though she did not miss the bloodshed of battle, she did miss holding a sword in her hand and the thrill of combat. "I for one accept the challenge, though I lack a sword."

"I accept, too!" Elladan agreed readily. "I will take part in the archery competition at the least."

All eyes turned to Elrohir. He muttered something inaudible and folded his arms. "I will think about it. I'd sooner watch than partake, I think."

Fingon grinned and Maglor nodded. The latter spoke up, turning at first to Míril. "You said you lack a sword, and for this reason we thought to take you to visit the Forges of Aulë. His Halls are filled with numerous weapons and great armor."

"Technically you are the heir to Fëanor's line," Fingon revealed. "And thus have some claim to the forge's treasures."

Maglor answered their questioning looks quickly. "Though Iluvatar has forgiven me my transgressions, I have rejected what claim I have."

"Let us go, then!" Míril pulled herself up onto her white horse and trotted in a circle. "I am eager to be off!"

"So we see." Maglor rolled his eyes good-naturedly and hopped onto his own steed. "We may be able to reach the East entrance of his Halls by midnight."

The others followed suit. They trotted the rest of the way down Ezellohar and headed south. Towards Yavanna's Plains they rode, eager to reach their destination. And yet they did not rush, for the beauty of Valinor kept them watching the surrounding areas in wonder. Their new puppy, Auriel, though grown to already halfway up the horses' legs, grew tired by the end of the night.

A great hall arose before them deep into the night. Before its metal doors stood four massive bonfires atop thick metal braziers. They lit a wide area, and allowed the five companions to note that two Noldorin men stood before the doors in gold and ebony armor. A large stable to the left allowed them to leave the horses safely.

Míril trembled in excitement as they approached the doors. The two wardens heaved the dark metal doors open as one, and Maglor and Fingon led the way forward. Though the hall was dark by nature of the stone used in construction, it remained well lit because of the multitude of fires lining the walls and torches lighting the way. The main room stood tall, with columns designed like trees reaching up in support. To every direction, hallways led down, not out.

Fingon flagged down a passing Noldo. "Erenindo, where is Aulë?"

The dark haired elf turned to them, his leather apron tied tightly around his body. Black coal stains littered his clothes and his skin. "Down in the Eastern forge, speaking with Yúlië."

Fingon nodded and gestured for the four others to follow him. They turned right from the entrance and caught sight of a grand stairway heading down Eastward. The stone was an umber color, with obsidian tips on each step. The walls were hewn rock of a similarly red-brown color. Ten could've walked abreast down the twenty-five foot stairs. A cavernous room opened, and inside were thirty large forges. Smiths worked at each, mostly Noldor.

At the far corner a large man stood at least eight foot in stature with dark skin glistening from sweat. He was bare-chested, an apron hanging only from his waist, untied from his neck. His tight tan pants, smeared with charcoal stains, told of long hours in these forges. Medium length black hair was roughly cut at his shoulders. But the most striking of all features was his eyes. They were large, sparkling with a million different hues of gold.  _Aulë, the Maker._

He spoke to a woman, if woman she was. They knew immediately she was a Maia, for her appearance seemed so bizarre it ruled out the possibility of Eldar. Her skin, grey as the steel hammer she held in her left hand, was accented by slightly darker swirling designs. Her eyes, strange like the man's, glowed crimson and seemed almost wolf-like. Her black hair wrapped about her head and came only to her shoulders.

"That's Yúlië," Fingon explained as they picked their way carefully between forges. Though he tried to keep his voice low, the constant drumming of metal on metal and the hiss of steam as hot steel hit water meant he had to raise his voice to be heard. "She's been Aulë's chief Maia since her brother abandoned his service."

Fingon and Maglor led them straight to Yúlië's forge which seemed, somehow, to be hotter than even the others. Míril felt her skin pulsing from the strength of the flames around her. Elladan and Elrohir, visibly uncomfortable, shuffled forward behind her. As they approached, both Ainur turned to see them.

Aulë let a small smile play at his lips, but Yúlië betrayed no emotion. If anything, her frown betrayed annoyance at the interruption.

Maglor began introductions. "Lord, these are-"

"Elladan and Elrohir and Míril." Aulë nodded and placed his hammer down. His voice was deep and rougher than Ulmo's. "Trust me, your names are known among my brethren."

"We are honored, lord," Míril smiled, eager to be the first to respond. Every other meeting of the Valar had left her looking dumb and speechless.

Aulë nodded. He turned to his Maia companion. "This is Yúlië, my right hand."

She nodded to the elves. "Chief in my work is ring making and swordcraft."

"Speaking of swords," Fingon began, only to be interrupted by the Vala.

Aulë smirked at them. He shook his head and held up his hand. "I can guess why you are here. Afterall, of all your brethren, neither of you particularly enjoyed my forges. Maglor, you preferred your harp, and Fingon, you enjoyed the green fields of my wife. So it must be that you require something of me. And with the Tournament coming up, you bring three - weaponless - warriors to me."

Fingon and Maglor exchanged a worried chuckle. The latter spoke up next. "Indeed, Lord Aulë, you are correct. We had hoped that you would provide them with gear for the Tournament."

Aulë looked the half elves over critically. He narrowed his eyes. They stood awkwardly, Elladan shifting from one foot to the other. He was thankful they had left Auriel with the horses, as it was far too hot in here for a dog. He let his thoughts turn back to the Vala before him.

"Elven glass and mithril for her," Yúlië murmured, placing her own hammer on an anvil and stepping closer to her master. "Add obsidian in at the end."

Aulë nodded, turning to his lieutenant. "For them, mithril and grey leathers. I'll use elven glass for the accents, and steel."

"You could inlay rubies and topaz into her armor as well. Showcase her Fëanorian bloodline." She pointed to Miril's chest area. "A white tree, like she has worn in the past, but with rubies and topaz surrounding it."

They nodded in unison. Together they turned to face on another. Aulë asked her, "What are you thinking for swords?"

"A hilt of mithril for her, like Fëanor's swords always had, with four rubies for her children in the hilt. One at each end, one at the bottom, and one below the center crosspiece." Yúlië walked over and grabbed a hefty jewel from her workspace. It was bright blue. "This can be the centerpiece, blue for the union with Luthien's line."

"Good." Aulë nodded. "For them, use blue and silver accents."

She nodded. "Agreed." Yúlië walked to her forge and began drawing up plans.

Aulë returned his attention to the silently waiting elves. He smiled. "I shall work on the armor, Yúlië will finish your swords. Come back in a week, and they'll be ready."

"Thank you, lord and lady," Míril grinned widely. "I cannot wait to see the finished product!"

"They will surely be magnificent," Elladan agreed wholeheartedly.

"Thank you, Lord Aulë, for helping them," Maglor said eagerly with a bow. "We are in your debt."

But Aulë shook his head. "The Noldor have always been dear to me. I hope one of these new champions will dethrone the usual victors."

Maglor and Fingon nodded in unison, chuckling lightly. As they all bid farewell to the Ainur, Erenindo came down to see them and escorted them to a small guest house outside. There they found Auriel waiting for them, and they slept away what remained of the night.


	29. A New Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a familiar face returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday Professor Tolkien!

"Where are we to head now," Miril asked Fingon excitedly. The morning had dawned bright and early, so that now they sat together in the small dining area of the inn. The only one missing was Maglor.

Fingon shook his head with laughter. "Truly you and your husband and brother are eager."

Elladan rolled his eyes. "Would you not be?"

Maglor appeared then, bringing with him a letter. "A maia brought this to me before you three woke up. It's a summons to Mandos."

Miril grinned. "Then to Mandos we shall go!"

"It isn't too far from here," Fingon agreed immediately, reading the letter that Maglor handed him. "You haven't actually met Lord Mandos, correct?"

"No," Elrohir shook his head. "We only met Lady Vairë."

"Then let us be off," Fingon said with a smile and a nod. "It is rude to keep the Valar waiting. Especially Mandos."

And so the five travelers grabbed their bags and walked quickly to their horses. The trek to the road that went to Mandos took an hour, and the road itself another five. By the time they reached the great Halls of Awaiting, the sun had reached its peak and now waned in the sky. They entered by the same gate as before, leaving their horses with Wilwarinde the maia outside once more. Maglor flashed the letter of summons before the guard. He let them pass.

As they entered the Hall, Miril and the twins felt again the shock of the sheer grandeur of that place. The high columns went on seemingly endlessly. They were met at the opening of the hall by Míriel.

"Welcome back." She nodded with a smile. "The Lord and Lady await you in their hall."

"Are we all to go?" Maglor asked her carefully.

"Yes," she said with a grin. "It seems you have found favor with Mandos, or else Ilúvatar as determined for you to be here."

They pondered her words as all five followed her. Míriel led them further down the Hall of Tapestries than they had been before, until right before the gate to the Halls of Awaiting they turned right. The new hall was actually a domed area. The ceiling far above them was painted black with white shining gems like stars. Everything else, grey stone like the rest of the halls, was draped in dark blue tapestries depicting each Valar. At the far end of the dome from their entrance sat two thrones. Smaller and less grand than those thrones upon Taniquetil, these two were softly sculpted from grey marble. Each had a cushion of deep blue. Upon the right throne from where they stood sat Vairë, the Weaver. And to the left sat a man who sat tall and still with grey eyes and dark hair. His robes looked heavy, made of strong fabrics, and were black, grey, and dark blue.

"Lord Mandos, Lady Vairë, I bring before you Maglor, Fingon, Miril, Elladan, and Elrohir, of the house of Finwë." Miriel knelt on a single knee and the rest copied her action.

"You may stand, children," Vaire chuckled softly.

Míril, who had already decided she liked Vaire from their last visit, smiled back and rose with the others. And yet when her eyes fell upon Mandos, she felt awe-inspired fear. He looked at them quizzically before nodding.

"Welcome to my Halls, children of Finwë." He paused. "We have much to discuss. For I do not understand why, but Eru has shown me that it is time, yet again, to release from these Halls more and more elves."

"How so," Maglor ventured the question. "Why?"

"That is what I do not know," Mandos shook his head from where he sat. "I am unsure. And yet the direction is clear, and I will not stop the actions based on my own bias. But each time I release an elf, I must know that there are those who will vouch for them, especially from a family such as yours, Makalaurë."

"Mine," gasped Maglor. "Who?"

"It seems that Eru wishes me to release Maedhros Nelyafinwë. He has gone before the Allfather and been judged forgiven. But I must speak first to Míril Fëanoriel. For thanks to my wife, she has spoken with him." None missed the smug look on Vaire's face and the slightly annoyed one on Mandos' own. "What have you to say for his fate, Míril. You are the only Fëanorian to be judged worthy in their first life."

Fingon and Maglor both stood in absolute shock, rocked to their core by the knowledge that their greatest friend might be coming back to them. Both cousins stared at Míril pleadingly, and she tried desperately to ignore them.

"I grew up with a hatred of the Fëanorians," she began. "I loved learning of their valor, but always did I despise their actions. The Kinslayings are not easily forgivable." Míril did not miss the shameful look on Maglor's features. His entire body sagged. But she continued. "Maedhros participated in all three of those horrendous acts. And yet, when I spoke to him, he understood fully how evil his actions had been. He was repentant. He wanted nothing but to apologize to his mother. And I think his last act speaks volumes. He killed himself in despair."

"So you would have him released," Mandos asked her.

She paused. "Yes."

"I have judged him the same way you have, Míril Fëanoriel. And as I said, I will not stand in the way of the will of Eru." He and Vairë turned their attention to a small door to their right. Miriel appeared then, and behind her a redhead, taller than most.

"Nelyo!" Maglor cried out in sadness and joy, a strange mix of contrasts. He ran to his brother and grabbed him into an embrace. "How could you have left me like that."

Maedhros nearly broke down right there, but his eyes met Maglor's and he straightened up for his sake. "I fear that is a tale I do not wish to revisit right now."

"Understandably," Maglor agreed, drawing back, controlling himself again. "But by all that is good, it is wonderful to see you alive."

"Likewise, brother." Maedhros smiled at his brother, something all four other elves found somehow very relieving.

Fingon walked over then and both of them eyed each other. "You have a lot to explain, Russandol."

"It is merely good to see you alive, Finno," Maedhros said with a frown. "When you died…"

"Come, let us speak of happier things," Maglor intervened. For he knew that his brother would not be able to control himself once he spoke of Fingon's last stand and death, and what it had done to the Noldor in the aftermath.

"Agreed," Fingon smiled. "For though we do, indeed, have much to talk about, I am content for now to say welcome home."

They embraced. Míril cried, and Elrohir hugged her, tears in his own eyes. Both thought then of Tinneth, of perhaps meeting her again someday. They did not know if she had entered the void, or if as an elf she sat in the Halls of Mandos somewhere. Either way, they knew she would not be able to see them for many years. Elladan alone remained composed, and he placed hands on both his brother and his sister-by-union.

"We have a room prepared for you to talk and prepare for the outside world," Vaire said then. "Mīriel will show you there."

"Thank you, my lord and my lady," Maedhros bowed to the Valar quickly, falling to both knees in reverence.

"Rise, eldest of the line of Fëanor." Mandos commanded him softly. "Instead of homage, promise to do good with your life in this body."

Maedhros nodded, his face scrunched as he tried to keep tears from falling. His new body, whole again, lacked the scars of his torture in Thangorodrim and he had his right hand back. If that wasn't a gift from Eru he did not know what would be. "With all my heart, Lord."

"Then go now, son of Fëanor. Rest and relax with your companions." Mandos gestured for them to follow Míriel. "But do not forget to go before Manwë and Varda in the near future. They wish to speak with you."

With a nod, and flanked by his cousin and brother, all six elves followed Miriel into another side room. There they sat, surrounded by warm-colored tapestries and sitting upon comfortable pillows and blankets.


	30. Same Eyes

Míril stayed quiet as they settled upon lounging rugs surrounding a low table. She regained control of herself, settling against Elrohir. Maglor refused to move from his brother’s side, shadowing him protectively. It made Elladan smile, and as he seemed the only one capable of such a feat in that instant, it stood out. So he quickly hid the smile.

 

“When you were in the Halls,” Maglor finally started a few minutes later after an intense silence, “did you see anyone else?”

 

Maedhros stared into the glass of wine that Míriel had retrieved for him. He did not answer right away, instead he merely stayed still, distant. But at last he shook his head. “None of our brothers, no, Káno. A few Weavers visited me, bringing me news.”

 

“News of what?” Fingon sipped his own glass.

 

Maedhros raised his eyes at Elladan, Elrohir, and Míril, causing Fingon and Maglor to look at them. Elrohir stared back. “Us?!”

 

Míriel spoke up from near the door. “I tend to all the grandchildren of Finwë. I have found that speaking of you and your successes against the dark has helped most of them.”

 

Míril choked on a grape she had been chewing. “All of them?!”

 

Míriel chuckled and came over to them, joining the group by sitting between Fingon and Elladan to the right side of the table. She nodded, her dark silvery hair bouncing with her movements. “Like it or no, you three are the heroes of this family. Alongside Galadriel, you are the lone survivors.” She frowned then and turned to Maedhros. “You, sir, must take care to not shut yourself away now.”

 

“What do you mean?” Maglor asked immediately.

 

Míriel turned to Fingon, and he sighed. “She speaks of Aredhel. You may recall she returned to the living shortly after these three arrived? I spend time with her when possible, but she takes up residence far away, near Lorien. Knowing her beloved Maeglin’s betrayal and without our brothers, she mourns in seclusion.”

 

“So that is where you disappear to,” Maglor replied quietly. Then he turned to Maedhros. “Fear not, Lady Míriel, we shall watch for this fool.”

 

Maedhros frowned then and looked at his grandmother. “You say you speak to the others?”

 

Míriel hesitated. “Yes.”

 

“How do they fare?” Maedhros looked about ready to break again. “Our brothers? Findo? Turvo? Aro?”

 

Míriel sighed. “Some better than others. Celegorm and Caranthir have calmed some in the Halls, but Curufin still fights repentence. Amrod mourns for Amras, and Amras for Amrod.” She paused before continuing. “Turgon… he mourns for all he has lost, and longs for family. Argon misses his sister most of all. Finrod has taken to quiet meditation. Angrod, of all the grandchildren, eagerly awaits news and begs me for information on his son. In turn, Orodreth wishes for Finduilas and Gil-Galad.” With a last pause she sighed. “Of all, Aegnor troubles me the most. For he mourns that which cannot ever be recovered.”

 

“Andreth,” Fingon realized with a sigh.

 

Míriel confirmed his suspicion with a nod. Then she turned to Míril, Elladan, and Elrohir. “Take heart, young ones. Your heroics have brought comfort to the aching here in Mandos. You have done more than you realize.”

 

Elrohir frowned. “And yet we too have lost that which we loved, and found little comfort. Where is our balm?”

 

No one had an answer. Míriel downcast her eyes, while Maedhros, Maglor, and Fingon found their own food fascinating. But Míril decided to take a stand. She herself had found comfort in visiting Maedhros. It had shown her that perhaps Tinneth might someday be saved.

 

“Míriel, I visited Maedhros while he was in the Halls. Would Vairë allow it again, perhaps for my husband and his brother as well?” She looked at the woman intently. “Nienna taught me much, but more than that, helping the hopeless has shown me hope in darkness as well. Will Vairë and Mandos deny that of us?”

 

“We would not.” They all turned to see Lady Vairë standing in the doorway, a sad smile on her face. She continued. “My husband is skeptical, but we both sense the importance of this mission for you three.”

 

Míriel grinned. “My lady, I had someone in mind for Míril.”

 

Vairë chuckled. “Yes. I figured you did.”

 

Maedhros turned to his grandmother. “Who?”

 

Míriel smiled and looked to Míril. “Caranthir.”

 

“Caranthir? My forefather?” Míril hesitated. “Perhaps I should start with someone… nicer?”

 

Maedhros actually laughed, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. He shook his head grinned at Míril. “Truly you are blunt.”

 

“Right, my apologies, but am I wrong?” She turned to Maglor. “Am I?”

 

“Well…” Maglor hesitated. “Somewhat. Caranthir has never been the easiest of elves to get along with. The anger you deal with was felt strongly in him, but only towards those he felt treated others, or himself, unjustly.”

 

“Or if he found them incompetent,” Fingon reminded his friend.

 

Maglor nodded. “This is true.”

 

But Maedhros interrupted him. “Míril, when you came to see me, I was damaged. I had heard of you and your exploits.” He paused to compose himself before continuing. “But your deeds impressed me, truly. Caranthir will recognize an equal when he sees one.”

 

Míril hesitated, looking back at the Valië. Vairë nodded encouragingly. And so she screwed herself up and agreed. “Next we send one of those two to see someone.” She pointed at Elrohir and Elladan.

 

They all chuckled. Míril stood, and guided by Míriel and Vairë, she took the side passages that once she had taken for Maedhros. Soon she stood behind the towering gate guarded by iron-clad Maiar, and found herself instead in halls shrouded with mist on all sides. Míriel walked beside her this time, assuring her that Caranthir's bark was much worse than his bite.

 

“Like dear Auriel that Elladan now cares for,” Míriel reminded her. “Only his tongue is sharper. But I told you, he has calmed some. He seems to look forward to news from the outside.”

 

“Will he recognize me?” Míril asked.

 

“Not on sight,” replied the weaver. 

 

At last they stopped before the only cell that appeared unshrouded. Míriel bid farewell to Míril before she even had time to process the situation, and Míriel disappeared. And so Míril turned back to the bars, which she touched. In an instance, she found herself transported inside, unlike last time, by Vairë's power presumably.

 

An elf looked up from where he sat against a wall. His nearly black hair lay about his shoulders and upper chest, but was shorter than both Maglor and Maedhros’. Clothed in a loose black shirt and black pants, he seemed more menacing than the broken Maedhros had. He glanced up quickly in surprise at Míril’s appearance.

 

“You aren't Míriel,” he stated simply. 

 

“No-”

 

“Then why are you here?” Caranthir cocked an eyebrow at her. “I don't recall seeing your face in here before, and I have been here a long time.”

 

“No, I'm not a weaver.” Míril sighed. “You're Caranthir?”

 

He stared at her impatiently and replied quickly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “No, I'm Celegorm.” He sighed. “My dear handmaiden, if you have no news to share of the outside world then please, leave me in peace. I do not desire idle chatter.”

 

Míril rolled her eyes right back, placing her hands on her hips. “My  _ dear  _ Fëanorian, if you would only stop talking then I could explain why I am here.”

 

Caranthir's eyebrow arched at this, but he said nothing.

 

“I am no handmaiden of Vairë,” Míril told him once more. “It is true that Lady Vairë had tasked me with speaking with you, and Míriel suggested it too. But I am not one of them.”

 

“Then you are?”

 

She paused. “I am Míril, descendant of Fëanor, wife of Elrohir, descendant of Lúthien.”

 

Caranthir stared at her, eyes wide in shock. He scrambled to his feet, drawing a bit closer, and Míril found herself but a few inches shorter than him. And yet his piercing gaze seemed to her to undress her, as he tried to figure out if she lied or not.

 

“Miril Fëanoriel?” He nearly choked on unbidden tears, and his face intently reddened. “By Varda’s stars…. You even look like her.”

 

Míril frowned. She had not expected that reaction. “Like who?”

 

Caranthir looked away, turning from her to compose himself. Míril had the same eyes as  _ she _ once had, blue like a deep lake, undecipherable in their mystery. And yet, her flushed cheeks clearly recalled himself. How had he missed it? How had he...

 

“Haleth.” He spoke her name reverently, quietly. He had not spoken her name aloud in millennia.


End file.
